c 


L 

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THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 


Author  of  "Truth  Dexter,"  "The  Breath  of  the 
Gods,"  "Ariadne  of  Allan  Water,"  etc. 


ADAPTED    FROM    WILLIAM    J.    HTTRLBUT  8  PLAT 

OF   THE    SAME    XAMU 


SYNDICATE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK        LONDON 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 
BY  DODD  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  AT  DAWN 1 

II  JACK  TURNS  His  BACK  UPON  DELPHI  AND  ITS 

SPARROWS 17 

III  THE  "  SEND-OFF  "  AT  THE  STATION      ....     31 

IV  SUNDAY  IN  PARIS >     .     .     45 

V  WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  AT  ROBINSON'S       ...     56 

VI  WHISTLER'S  PORTRAIT  OF  His  MOTHER      ...     71 

VII  JOHN  ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT   ....     87 

VIII  JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL :.      .      .  102 

IX  JOHN   ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS 117 

X  THE  FIRST  LESSON 130 

XI  JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER  AND  MEETS  A  FRIEND  142 

XII  ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY 155 

XIII  INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS 167 

XIV  TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT      ......  180 

XV  CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE .      .   191 

XVI  CHANGES >     ...  204 

XVII  JOHN  GOES   HOME .      .  215 

XVIII  READJUSTMENTS 228 

XIX  INEZ  IN  DELPHI 239 

XX  THE  DELPHI  THEME — IN  VARIATIONS     .      .      .  252 

XXI  DELPHI   DECIDES  TO   CALL,  AND  INEZ  MAKES  A 

FRIEND 267 

XXII  DR.  KELSEY 281 

XXIII  WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL 296 

XXIV  "YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  You  OUT!"   .     .     .308 
XXV  "  FREE  LOVE  "  AS  INTERPRETED  BY  DELPHI    .     .  325 

XXVI  AT  BAY 346 

XXVII  SACKCLOTH  —  WITH  A  SILVER  LINING       .     .     .  366 


2137472 


CHAPTER  I 

AT  DAWN 

YOUNG  John  Hemingway  awoke,  on  this  particular 
May  morning,  with  the  first  drowsy  click  of  the  first 
sparrow.  Consciousness,  on  the  instant,  clasped 
him.  It  was  as  if  he  had  suddenly  been  immersed  in 
water.  He  wondered,  a  little  impatiently,  that  he 
had  been  able  to  sleep  at  all.  How  could  he,  when 
this  was  his  Great  Day,  his  Golden  Threshold,  the 
beginning  of  the  Adventure  with  all  that  it  might 
come  to  mean! 

Dawn,  a  square  grey  cloth,  hung  at  his  window. 
Behind  it  now  more  sparrows  stirred, —  myriads  of 
them, —  in  a  shrill  clamour.  Their  thin  voices 
sounded  querulous,  almost  angry. 

"  And  all  the  mornings  to  come, —  for  four  blessed 
years,  they  are  to  wake  and  chirp  like  this,"  the  man 
thought.  "  What  do  they  know  or  care  about  Paris ; 
or  the  fact  that,  at  last,  I  am  to  go?  " 

Pressing  down  into  his  pillow,  he  gave  himself  up, 
deliberately,  to  the  luxury  of  anticipation. 

For  years,  ever  since  his  college  days  at  the  state 
university,  and  afterward,  as  he  doubtfully,  yet  with 
energy,  perpetrated  various  architectural  wrongs 
upon  his  native  town,  the  thought  of  Paris  had  been 

his    goal,    his    great    incentive.     Unlike    his    fellow 

1 


2  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

architects,  he  grew  steadily  more  dissatisfied  with  the 
sort  of  work  he  found  himself  forced  to  do.  The 
new  City  Hall  of  Delphi,  in  spite  of  its  inception  at 
the  hands  of  a  well-known  Chicago  architect,  did  not 
loom  up  before  him  as  an  object  for  pride  and  re- 
joicing. He  felt,  vaguely,  that  it  was  dispropor- 
tionate and  ugly,  that  the  colours  of  the  dust-hued 
granite  and  the  hard  red  bricks  made  an  arid  con- 
trast, but  his  training  had  not  been  of  the  kind  to 
make  these  visual  faults  statable.  His  profession 
had  become  the  great,  dominating  factor  in  his  life, 
second  only  to  the  love  of  the  quiet  little  mother  who 
tried  so  hard  to  understand  his  aesthetic  repinings 
and  was  so  pathetically  anxious  to  assist  him  in  gam- 
ing that  broader  outlook  which,  especially  of  late, 
he  had  begun  to  feel  a  necessity. 

At  college  he  had  heard,  of  course,  of  the  lEcole 
des  Beaux  Arts.  To  his  untutored  imagination  the 
whole  of  Paris  was  a  sort  of  modern  Olympus, 
crowned  and  immortalised  by  a  single  temple, —  a 
white  and  shining  place  of  long  cool  corridors,  and 
happy  busy  minds, —  to  which  good  young  architects, 
—  even  from  a  place  so  far  away  as  Delphi,  Iowa, — 
were  sometimes  privileged  to  go.  Already  he  was 
well  past  the  age  of  the  average  student.  He  had 
tried,  conscientiously,  to  adapt  himself  to  Delphi 
taste  and  Delphi  standards,  but  somewhere  within 
him  was  a  protest  that  would  not  be  stilled. 

His  mother,  one  of  those  shy,  intuitive  souls  who, 
where  love  is  concerned,  know  everything  without 


AT  DAWN  a 

asking  a  single  question,  soon  perceived  the  facts, 
and  from  that  moment  went  quietly  to  work,  with 
the  one  motive  of  "  sending  John  to  Paris." 

The  death  of  her  husband,  now  many  years  ago, 
had  left  Emma  Hemingway  what  her  neighbours  de- 
scribed as  "  comfortably  off."  She  had  a  large 
two-story  town-house,  a  reasonable  amount  of  life- 
insurance  safely  invested,  one  small  business  build- 
ing in  a  rather  poor  part  of  the  city,  and,  in  addi- 
tion, a  farm  six  miles  out  into  the  country,  which 
had  been  inherited  from  her  own  people.  The  ren- 
tal of  this  farm  made,  to  her  income,  the  differ- 
ence between  a  mere  living  and  the  aforesaid 
"  comfort." 

Now,  without  so  much  as  a  hint  to  her  son,  she 
sold  it  outright  and  it  was  this  money,  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  cash  and  interest-bearing  notes,  which  a 
few  weeks  before,  she  had  put  into  John's  hands,  mak- 
ing the  offering  as  casually  as  if  she  were  passing 
him  a  cup  of  tea,  and  saying,  with  her  gentle  smile, 
"  Here  are  the  four  years  in  Paris,  John." 

Yes,  he  was  going  I  Nothing  could  hold  him  back 
now.  His  railway  ticket  was  bought,  and  his  trunks 
packed.  Even  his  passage  on  the  big  trans- Atlantic 
steamer  was  secure.  Four  years !  Four  wonderful 
golden,  busy  years,  packed  full  and  crowded  down 
with  opportunity.  When  he  stepped  aboard  the 
nine-thirty  train  that  very  morning,  he  would  be 
entering  on  his  Kingdom. 

He  closed  his  eyes  in  the  sheer  ecstasy  of  vision. 


4  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Again  rose  the  shining  Acropolis,  the  Temple  of 
Beautiful  Arts !  Clustered  beneath  its  supernal 
walls  were  lesser  glories,  such  as  the  Louvre,  the  grey 
imp-set  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  and  the  enamelled 
jewel-casket  of  Saint  Chappelle.  Somewhere  among 
the  "  roots  of  things  "  flowed  a  grey  river  with  the 
sun  upon  it.  That  would  be  the  Seine.  To  think 
that  he,  John  Hemingway,  who  had  never  been  east 
of  Chicago,  was  soon  to  stand  upon  one  of  those 
historic  bridges,  dreaming  above  the  Seine! 

There  was  something  the  "  boys  "  called  the  Latin 
Quarter.  Their  eyes  always  danced  at  the  name. 
But  he  felt  little  interest  in  this  view  of  Paris.  It 
was  suitable  enough,  he  conceded,  for  the  harlequin- 
ade of  near-artists  and  near-singers  who,  appar- 
ently, made  up  its  population,  but  would  have  few 
allurements  from  an  architect  of  the  Middle  West, 
—  especially  an  architect  with  a  Purpose, —  not  to 
mention  a  Mother. 

"  Paris !  I  am  actually  going  to  Paris,  and  I 
start  to-day,"  he  said  aloud.  The  morning  seemed 
to  shiver  at  his  words. 

"  Paris,  for  four  whole  years,"  he  repeated. 
"  And  I  am  leaving  mother  utterly  alone." 

A  penetrating  chill  crept  in  through  the  thinning 
curtain  of  the  dawn.  All  the  gladness  went  from  his 
face.  He  moved  restlessly,  and  reached  down  to 
pull  a  coverlid  over  him. 

"  Suppose    something    should    happen    to    her    in 


AT  DAWN  5 

your  absence?"  a  cold  voice  whispered.  "What 
would  success  mean  to  you  then?  " 

He  sat  up  quickly,  flinging  one  vigorous  young 
limb,  half-swathed  in  clinging  blankets,  to  the  floor. 
To  lie  there  longer  and  think,  was  impossible.  He 
would  be  up,  and  dress  himself.  Before  the  second 
foot  could  reach  the  old  rag  carpet  a  second  thought 
checked  him. 

His  mother's  room  was  directly  beneath.  If  he 
turned  on  the  water  for  his  bath, —  and  by  now  his 
whole  body  had  begun  to  clamour  for  the  invigorat- 
ing plunge, —  she  would  hear  him. 

Plumbing,  even  in  large  cities,  is  a  precarious  art. 
In  Delphi  the  bathroom  pipes  had  all  acquired  a  spe- 
cies of  banshee  howl,  intensifying  with  age.  The 
turning  of  a  faucet  on  the  second  floor  invariably 
released  sleeping  demons,  so  that  the  reluctantly  as- 
cending water  was  apparently  pursued  by  a  spiral 
mob  of  objurgations. 

The  early  morning  mist  clutched  at  his  bare  an- 
kles. With  a  sigh  of  disappointment  he  was  with- 
drawing them  into  the  bed  when  a  very  slight  sound 
from  the  chamber  below  arrested  him.  He  listened, 
leaning  tensely  forward.  It  was  a  window  being 
opened  very  softly. 

"  Mother,  God  bless  her !  "  he  cried.  "  She  can't 
sleep  either !  " 

He  sprang  up,  and  now  that  caution  was  not 
needed,  rushed  across  the  floor.  At  the  window-sill 


6  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

he  leaned  out  until  the  two  old-fashioned  fasteners, 
perkily  upright  like  miniature  croquet  wickets,  thrust 
themselves  upward  into  his  straining  flesh  and,  for 
days  after,  kept  their  memory  in  blue  bruises. 

"  Mother !  That  you  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  vibrant 
whisper  which  carries  better  than  open  speech. 

"  John ! "  came  the  quick  reply,  muffled  also,  that 
the  neighbours  might  not  be  disturbed,  but  tremulous 
with  surprise  and  joy. 

"  I  might  have  known  that  you  could  not  sleep, 
either,"  the  upper  voice  triumphed.  "  I'm  going  to 
take  a  plunge  now, —  this  minute.  Then  I'll  run 
down  to  you.  'Spose  we  have  a  cup  of  coffee, —  just 
you  and  me, —  before  the  girl  comes." 

"  That  will  be  lovely.  I'll  slip  on  my  wrapper 
and  start  the  water  boiling.  I  just  couldn't  stay  in 
bed.  I  was  too  —  too  —  excited !  " 

"  Same  here.  Oh,  Mother!  "  There  was  a  sud- 
den note  of  despair. 

Mrs.  Hemingway  vanished.  John  withdrew  from 
the  sill,  and  sped  to  his  bath,  where  he  turned  on  all 
the  faucets  with  such  feverish  energy  that  howls, 
gurgles  and  wails,  hitherto  unsuspected,  burst  from 
the  released  element. 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  he  was  downstairs. 
Already,  in  the  kitchen,  stood  his  mother,  dressed  in 
her  habitual  black  with  a  white  fichu  at  the  throat, 
her  silvery  hair  as  complete  and  immaculate  as  the 
petals  of  the  white  roses  that  stood  in  a  little  jar  on 
the  oilcloth-covered  table.  Two  of  the  "  good " 


AT  DAWN  7 

china  cups  from  the  dining-room  cabinet  had  been 
placed  near  the  flowers ;  and  from  the  coffee-pot  on 
the  stove  came  a  warm,  aromatic  fragrance. 

At  sight  of  the  familiar  little  figure  a  queer  con- 
striction, unlike  anything  before  experienced,  came 
into  the  young  man's  throat.  Unable  to  speak,  he 
strode  across  the  boards,  lifted  his  mother  bodily, 
and  strained  her  against  his  heart. 

"  My !  What  a  big  boy  you  are !  "  she  laughed, 
as  soon  as  she  could  regain  her  breath.  "  Even  big- 
ger and  stronger  than  your  dear  father,"  she  added 
softly,  her  brown  eyes  adoring  him. 

Again  came  that  odd  constriction  in  the  throat 
muscles.  John  scarcely  remembered  his  dead  father. 
He  knew  that  the  little  mother's  love  for  him  was  of 
a  stuff  as  imperishable  as  the  cameo  pin  she  habitu- 
ally wore.  Yet  it  was  seldom,  indeed,  that  she  could 
speak  directly  of  him,  and  this  spontaneous,  almost 
joyful  exclamation  showed  very  clearly  the  strained 
exaltation  of  her  mood.  Paris  began  to  seem  very 
far  away,  and  peculiarly  undesirable. 

Mrs.  Hemingway  patted  his  shoulder.  "  Sit 
down,  dear.  The  coffee  is  ready  to  pour.  See  how 
the  red  day  begins  to  show  through  the  young  maple 
leaves.  I  am  so  glad  that  it  is  to  be  a  fine  day ! " 

John  took  his  seat  heavily. 

She  caught  a  dish-towel  from  the  rack  near  by, 
and  hurrying  over  to  the  stove,  returned  with  the  hot 
coffee.  "  Smells  good,  doesn't  it  ?  "  she  asked  cheer- 
ily. Fortunately  he  could  not  see  the  quiver  of  her 


8  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

lips  as  she  bent  over  the  dark,  bowed  head.  His 
hair,  still  wet  from  the  bath,  looked  almost  black, 
and  was  fashioned  into  thick  little  half-curls  and 
wedges.  Emma  Hemingway  did  not  trust  herself, 
just  then,  to  lean  nearer. 

"  Look  here,  Mother !  "  he  cried  abruptly.  "  I'll 
have  to  cut  it  out,  after  all.  I  can't  leave  you." 

"  Now,  John ;  take  a  good  hot  swallow  of  coffee 
and  you'll  feel  more  like  yourself." 

John  turned  around,  fixing  tragic  eyes  upon  her. 
"  But  don't  you  see,  that's  just  what  I  shouldn't  feel 
like, —  myself.  I'm  a  selfish,  blind  brute.  That's 
what  I've  been  all  along.  Somehow  it's  come  over 
me  in  a  heap, —  with  this  quiet  dawn  about  us.  I've 
let  you  sacrifice  too  much.  Now  it's  the  farm, — 
your  individual  piece  of  property.  I  was  a  bone- 
head  to  let  you  know  how  I  wanted  these  years  of 
study  in  Paris." 

"  You  couldn't  have  kept  it  from  me,  John,"  she 
said,  pouring  the  two  cups  of  coffee  with  a  steady 
hand.  "  Besides,  who  else  would  you  have  told  ? 
Who  cares  as  I  do  ?  " 

"  That's  just  it !  You  do  care.  All  along  you 
have  cared  too  much,  and  I,  like  a  mutt,  have  ac- 
cepted everything !  " 

"  I  won't  have  you  calling  my  boy  such  ugly 
names ! "  she  protested,  with  a  little  laugh  that  it 
was  hard  to  keep  from  breaking.  "  There  never  was 
a  better  son  than  you,  John.  My !  but  isn't  this  the 
hottest  coffee ! " 


AT  DAWN  9 

John  joined,  a  little  ruefully,  in  her  laughter. 
"  You  are  one  too  many  for  me,  Mother.  You  al- 
ways have  been.  Well,  lift  the  cup.  We'll  drink  to 
Paris, —  darn  it !  " 

They  drank  warily,  the  two  smiling  pairs  of  eyes 
meeting  above  the  cup  rims. 

"  Speaking  of  darns,"  said  the  little  mother,  set- 
ting her  cup  down,  "  I  suppose  the  mails  between  here 
and  Paris  carry  things  besides  letters, —  don't 
they?" 

John  looked  puzzled.  What  on  earth  could  this 
very  mild  form  of  invective  have  to  do  with  the  inter- 
national postal  service? 

"  Why,  of  course !  " 

"  Well,  then  — "  she  began, —  hesitated,  and  sud- 
denly turned  an  imploring  look.  "  Please  don't 
think  me  a  silly,  sentimental  old  mother,  but  there  is 
a  troublesome  little  favour  I  am  going  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Something  that  can  be  mailed?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Anything  you  want,  Mother  o'  mine,  from 
weekly  stock  reports  to  the  head  of  the  French 
President  on  a  charger." 

"  It's  nothing  of  that  kind,  you  may  be  sure,"  she 
smiled.  "  It's  —  it's  —  I  want  you  to  send  me  back 
your  socks  to  darn." 

As,  for  the  moment,  he  was  incapable  of  utterance, 
she  went  on,  still  deprecatingly, 

"  I  have  always  found  them  such  a  comfort. 
While  you  were  off  to  college  I  believe  my  very  hap- 


10  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

piest  moments  were  spent  over  them.  Do  you  know, 
John,  I  sometimes  feel  sorry  for  men  because  they 
can  never  have  that  peculiar  quiet  of  mind, —  that 
serenity, —  that  comes  over  you  while  you  are  sew- 
ing, especially  when  you  are  darning  socks  for  some 
one  that  you  love." 

"  They  shall  come  regularly,  Mother.  I  prom- 
ise," he  said,  speaking  rather  thickly,  and  reaching 
out  for  another  gulp  of  coffee. 

"  And,  John,"  she  added,  now  with  more  definite 
embarrassment.  "  When  you  do  have  to  buy  new 
ones,  don't  trouble  to  get  them  of  too  durable  a  qual- 
ity." 

"  There's  the  old  sun  out  of  bed  at  last !  He's  got 
into  my  eyes,  somehow,"  cried  John,  blinking  toward 
the  great  red  disc  now  appearing  among  the  maple 
branches,  and  crossed,  like  a  map  of  the  canals  of 
Mars,  with  black  lines  of  twigs. 

Instead  of  following  his  tear-dimmed  gaze,  Emma 
Hemingway  leaned  forward,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the 
illumined,  up-turned  face  of  her  companion,  as  if  to 
impress  the  memory  forever  on  her  heart. 

John  fumbled  for  his  pocket  handkerchief,  blew  his 
nose  vigorously,  and  then  turned  a  smile  to  her. 

"  Well,  the  day  is  here  all  right.  But  we've  had  a 
wonderful  little  dawn-party  all  by  our  lonesomes, — 
haven't  we,  Mother?  " 

"  Yes, —  yes"  she  breathed. 

"  And  you  still  insist  on  sending  me  out  into  the 
big  world  to  fight,  and  make  you  proud  of  me?  " 


AT  DAWN  11 

"  To  fight,  yes.  But  I  am  already  proud  of  you. 
There  never  was  a  better  son,  my  John." 

"  Oh,  Mother,"  the  man  almost  groaned.  "  How 
could  a  fellow  help  being  decent  when  somebody  be- 
lieves in  him  as  you  do  in  me  ?  " 

"  They  don't  have  to  help  it,"  she  answered  prac- 
tically. 

"  All  the  same,"  he  retorted,  trying  to  speak  more 
lightly,  "  maybe  you  don't  realise  it,  but  you  are 
missing  the  opportunity  of  your  life.  Mothers  in 
novels  always  have  a  cart-load  of  advice  to  give  sons 
on  such  occasions  as  this.  Well,  I'm  waiting ! " 
He  leaned  back,  and  folded  his  arms  in  mock  resigna- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Hemingway  merely  smiled  and  shook  her 
head. 

"What?  No  advice?  No  cautions?  Surely  you 
have  heard  that  Paris  is  a  wicked  city !  " 

"  Since  you  decided  to  go  there  I  have  heard  very 
little  else,"  she  replied,  with  composure.  "  Mrs. 
Abbey  and  your  Aunt  Clara  seem  to  know  a  great 
deal  about  it." 

John  threw  back  his  head  with  a  laugh.  It  was  a 
gesture  of  his  that  she  loved.  "  Oh,  this  is  rich !  So 
they  have  been  trying  to  scare  you.  Come  now, 
Mother,  tell  me  what  you  said  to  them." 

Mrs.  Hemingway  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and 
sat  stiffly  upright,  with  tiny  lateral  movements  about 
the  shoulders  that  reminded  one  of  a  mother-bird  in 
a  nest.  It  was  a  gesture  that  he  specially  loved. 


12  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Well,  my  dear,  as  far  as  I  can  recall  it,  my 
words  were  something  like  these :  *  If  my  boy  is  go- 
ing to  be  a  bad  man,  he  will  be  bad  in  Delphi.  If  he 
is  to  be  good,  as  I  know  he  is,  he'll  be  just  as  good 
in  Paris.'  " 

"  Bully  for  you !  That's  spiked  their  guns,  I'll 
wager." 

"  Not  altogether.  Clara  thinks  me  very  remiss  in 
my  duty  because  I  have  not  prepared  a  long  list  of 
temptations  which  you  are  to  avoid." 

"  Trust  Aunt  Clara  for  knowing  'em,"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  grimace.  "  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Mother.  I'll  bet  a  hat  that  her  warnings  would  put 
a  fellow  on  to  a  lot  of  devilment  that  he  might  never 
have  thought  of  for  himself." 

"  It  is  not  impossible,"  conceded  his  companion. 
She  spoke  demurely,  but  a  twinkle  of  appreciation 
made  her  eyes  bright, 

John  laughed  outright,  then  as  suddenly  scowled. 

"  Never  mind  other  people,"  he  broke  out  roughly. 
"They  don't  count!  Nobody  counts,  just  now,  but 
you  and  me.  Mother," —  speaking  seriously, — 
"  isn't  there  some  sort  of  a  promise  you  want  me  to 
make  you?  Something  hard, —  just  to  show  you  — . 
I'd  like  it  to  be  hard." 

She  took  his  strong  young  hands  in  her  withered 
ones.  "  Just  go  on  being  your  own  straightforward, 
clean,  honest  self,  John.  I  couldn't  ask  anything 
better  than  that." 

The  rough  head,  a  bright  brown  now  that  the  hair 


AT  DAWN  13 

was  so  nearly  dried  and  the  yellow  sun  upon  it,  went 
over  to  the  oilcloth  table.  The  mother  bent  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  it.  He  reached  out  an  arm,  and 
drew  her  face  to  his. 

"  Then,  if  you  don't  care  for  promises,  say  some- 
thing to  me  in  your  own  dear  way.  Give  me  advice 
that  I  shall  always  remember,  and  that  will  help  me, 
for  I  am  just  beginning  to  see  what  it  means  to  say 
*  good-bye.'  " 

Mrs.  Hemingway  remained  silent  for  many  mo- 
ments. She  sat  motionless,  except  for  a  thoughtful, 
steady  stroking  of  the  bowed  head.  Behind  them, 
the  stove  snapped  and  crackled.  Two  sparrows,  fly- 
ing to  the  eastern  window-sill,  preened  themselves, 
making  queer,  animated  silhouettes. 

"  I  believe  there  is  something,"  said  the  quiet  voice, 
at  length.  "  Only,  I  have  spoken  this  way  so  sel- 
dom, it  is  going  to  be  a  little  hard  to  find  the  right 
words." 

John  raised  his  head,  and  set  bright,  listening  eyes 
on  hers.  "  Fire  away,  little  mother,"  he  encouraged. 
"  I'm  sure  to  understand." 

At  sight  of  a  troubled  little  frown  between  brows 
usually  so  tranquil,  a  new,  strange  tenderness  stirred 
in  the  young  man's  heart.  With  it  came  something 
strangely  like  reassurance.  There  had  been  growing 
about  the  little  figure,  so  touchingly  familiar  in  all 
outward  details,  a  sense  of  the  unusual,  almost  of  the 
mysterious.  Perhaps  the  early  light  had  some  part 
in  it,  as  music  and  voices  have  a  new  tone  at  dawn. 


14  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

But  there  was  more.  He  had  been  vaguely  conscious 
of  delicate  withholdings, —  of  depths  hitherto  unex- 
plored. 

The  little  frown,  at  least,  was  tangible  and  human. 
He  felt  himself  clinging  to  it.  After  all,  she  was 
just  his  dear,  home-staying  little  mother,  engrossed 
in  and  satisfied  with  the  narrow  life  about  her.  The 
forthcoming  advice,  whose  utterance  so  perplexed 
her,  was  sure  to  be  something  about  underflannels, 
or,  at  the  worst,  his  regular  attendance  at  the  near- 
est Protestant  church.  Whatever  it  might  be, — 
however  trivial, —  he  would  accede,  and  keep  it  to 
the  letter.  Her  opening  sentence  came  with  a  shock 
of  surprise. 

"  Every  one  says  this  is  a  wonderful  age  of 
thought,  and  inventions,  and  new  things,"  she  began, 
timidly.  "  You  feel  it  to  be  that  way,  don't  you, 
John?" 

But  the  young  man  could  only  stare. 

"  I  don't  mean  ordinary,  everyday  affairs,"  she 
amended,  noting  his  surprise,  "  but  opinions,  views 
of  life,  the  creating  of  beautiful  and  splendid  things, 
like  music  and  painting  and  beautiful  buildings, —  all 
those  wonders  that  you  will  be  right  in  the  middle 
of,  when  you  get  to  Paris.  And  —  and  —  then 
feeling  that  the  beauty  goes  deep  down  into  the  liv- 
ing of  a  person's  life.  Do  you  see  what  I  am  trying 
to  say?" 

"  I'm  —  I'm  not  perfectly  sure  I  do,"  he  stam- 
mered. "  You  have  taken  me  off  my  feet,  rather." 


AT  DAWN  15 

"  I  warned  you  that  I  wouldn't  be  able  to  express 
myself,"  she  said  despondently.  "  I  think  these 
thoughts  over  and  over  to  myself,  but  I  have  never 
tried  to  speak  them." 

"  It's  I  who  am  the  bone-head,"  protested  John 
with  vehemence.  "  Now  that  I've  caught  my  breath, 
please  say  it  again.  You  mean,"  he  continued,  as 
he  saw  her  troubled  hesitation,  "  that  creative  beauty, 
to  be  worth  while,  has  got  to  strike  its  roots  deep 
into  human  life  and  character?" 

Her  face  became  irradiated.  "  Yes, —  yes !  "  she 
panted.  "  That  puts  it  exactly.  How  smart  you 
are,  John.  I  could  never  have  found  those  words  in 
a  hundred  years." 

"  You  don't  have  to  find  them.  You  are  them," 
John  declared,  with  the  brusqueness  he  often  used  to 
hide  emotion.  "  I  understand  it  all,  now.  You 
want  me  to  keep  myself  decent,  not  from  fear,  or 
convention,  or  even  through  the  keeping  of  promises 
to  the  best  and  dearest  mother  in  the  world, —  but 
because  good  and  beautiful  work  is  in  itself  a  con- 
secration,—  and  one  must  keep  the  Temple  of  the 
Holies  clean." 

Mrs.  Hemingway  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  John,"  she  faltered,  "  when  I  hear  you  talk  like 
that  I  wonder  if  I  wasn't  wrong  in  not  trying  to 
persuade  you  to  become  a  Methodist  minister." 

John  sprang  to  his  feet,  laughing  merrily.  She 
too  rose.  As  they  faced  each  other,  he  caught  her 
by  her  slender  shoulders. 


16  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Look  here,  you  strange,  wonderful  little  mother ! 
What  I  want  to  know,"  he  demanded,  "  is  how,  in 
your  busy  life,  you  ever  found  the  time  to  work  out 
such  a  theory  of  life  and  aesthetics  ?  " 

"  Why,  darning  your  socks,  of  course,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  little  toss  of  the  grey  head.  "  And 
there's  Molly,  falling  up  the  back  steps.  Our  little 
party  has  ended." 


CHAPTER  II 

JOHN   TURNS   HIS  BACK   UPON  DELPHI   AND   ITS 
SPARROWS 

MOLLY  McGuraE,  the  "  hired-girl,"  was  of  somewhat 
recent  Irish  importation,  and  wore  her  acquired 
Americanism  like  a  pair  of  new  yellow  shoes.  In- 
dependence and  aggression  creaked  at  every  step. 
To  enhance  the  effect,  Molly,  while  of  alert  and  even 
sprightly  build  in  the  upper  regions,  moved,  from 
below,  as  if  on  three  particularly  unmanageable  legs. 
To  take  a  direct  step  forward  was  for  her,  appar- 
ently, to  achieve  the  impossible.  Her  progress 
across  a  given  space  could  be  rendered  only  in  a 
series  of  obtuse  angles.  She  never,  by  any  chance, 
"  entered "  an  apartment,  but  invariably  fell  or 
broke  in  through  the  door. 

This  morning  the  usual  procedure  was  announced 
by  a  terrific  clatter,  as  one  of  her  three  feet  came 
into  contact  with  the  fluted  tin  garbage  can  on  the 
back  porch.  At  the  crash,  followed  by  the  muffled 
thud  of  her  body  against  the  door,  Mrs.  Hemingway 
gave  a  low  cry.  John  laughed.  The  girl,  finally 
bursting  into  view,  paused  in  astonishment  at  this 
unexpected  invasion  of  her  domain. 

"  Howly      Mother!"      she      ejaculated.     "Now 

wouldn't  thot  beat  you  fer  sure!     You  and  Misther 

17 


18  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Jan  be  the  quare  early  risers  the  day,  Mi's  Hemin'- 
way.  An'  I  thot  I  was  fair  arly  mesef !  " 

"  You  are  early,  Molly,"  rejoined  the  mistress, 
with  her  gentle  smile.  "  It  was  very  nice  of  you  to 
remember." 

"  An'  how  was  I  to  f erget  at  all  ?  "  retorted  Molly, 
"  wid  the  very  cobwebs  in  the  corners  dhrapin' 
mournin'  at  Misther  Jan's  lavin'  them !  " 

John  threw  a  quizzical  glance  around  the  four 
corners,  to  satisfy  himself  and  the  girl  that  her 
simile  had  been  a  fiction  of  the  imagination. 

"  Can  you  have  breakfast  ready  by  seven,  do  you 
think?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hemingway.  "  It  is  only  six 
now.  I'd  like  to  have  it  over  before  Mr.  John's 
friends  begin  to  arrive." 

"  Sure  I  can,"  acquiesced  Molly.  "  More  particu- 
lar, seein'  thot  the  sthove  is  a'ready  rockin'  an' 
spitthin'  like  an  ould  Tom-cat  wid'  the  tooth-ache. 
An'  ye  do  well  til  yerselves  to  make  haste  against  the 
neighbours,  fer  on'y  the  jes'  now,  as  I  were  peltin' 
down  Elm  Strate,  I  seen  that  Miss  Whitman, —  her 
as  runs  so  shameful  afther  Misther  Jan  there, — 
a-rubbin'  the  cowld  crame  off  her  thin  nose." 

"  Come  along,  Mother,"  grimaced  John,  taking 
the  little  woman's  arm.  "  This  is  no  place  for  a 
modest  youth." 

"  An'  as  I  turned  the  corner  forbye,"  pursued 
Molly,  her  rich  Irish  voice  growing  louder  as  they 
retreated,  "  Mi's  Walther  Hemin'way  was  all  drest 
up  in  her  owld  brown  alpacky  thot  as  if  she'd  had 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI       19 

it  off  an  underthaker's  umbrella,  feedin'  them  two 
sick  fowls  o'  hearn  from  the  kitchen  winda." 

The  dining-room  finally  closed  upon  her  convulsed 
audience. 

Molly,  left  to  herself,  took  up  a  potato  slowly. 
"  Mi's  Hemin'way  do  be  puttin'  up  a  classy  bluff 
the  day,"  she  remarked  to  it,  mournfully.  "  She's 
hung  fresh  winda  curtains  at  her  eyes,  and  swept 
out  all  thraces  of  her  weepin',  but  all  the  same,  the 
fond  heart  o'  her  will  be  afther  squeezin'  through 
her  ribs  to  follow  afther  Misther  Jan.  He  has  the 
smile  thot  would  snare  ye." 

"  Mother,  I  do  hope  you  will  keep  Molly,"  John, 
in  the  next  room,  was  saying.  "  She  seems  a  good- 
hearted  girl,  and  her  mixture  of  old  Ireland  and 
new  America  is  a  vocal  joy." 

"  I  shall  keep  her,"  said  the  little  mother.  "  I  am 
fortunate  in  having  very  little  trouble  with  servants. 
I  should  never  have  let  old  Rebecca  go,  but  — " 

"  *  But  thot  she  up  an'  died  on  ye,'  as  Molly  would 
say,"  concluded  John,  mischievously. 

"  Now,  John.  You  do  like  to  tease,"  she  pro- 
tested. "Where  are  you  going  now?" 

He  had  made  his  way  to  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
where  he  now  paused,  giving  a  slight  explanatory 
gesture  upward. 

"  I'm  going  with  you,  then,"  she  declared. 
"  Somehow,  I  don't  want  to  let  you  out  of  my  sight 
a  minute.  Besides,  I  must  see  for  myself  that  all 
your  little  last  things  are  in  the  bag.  You  know 


20  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

you    always    used    to    forget    your    tooth-brush." 

"  Being  the  one  article  that  seemed  to  be  entirely 
unforgetable, —  I  always  did,"  admitted  John,  with  a 
grin. 

They  moved  about  John's  room  together,  the  little 
woman  stepping  very  softly.  Now  and  again  she 
paused,  letting  a  long  thoughtful  look  caress  the 
familiar  surroundings.  She  was  telling  herself  that 
all  the  little  ornaments  left  behind  should  be  kept 
rigidly  to  their  present  places,  and  that  the  bed,  with 
its  snowy  sheets,  should  be  always  in  readiness,  as 
if  he  might,  after  all,  be  only  as  far  as  "  college," 
and  run  home  unexpectedly  for  the  night. 

Just  now  the  bed  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a 
collapsed  balloon.  In  the  midst  of  it  was  a  dressing 
case,  its  jaws  wide,  as  if  clamouring  for  "  last 
things." 

The  two  talked  now  in  hasty  commonplaces. 
Their  avoidance  of  deeper  themes  was  obvious  to 
both.  Each  felt  a  sickening  sense  of  Time's  jeering 
flight:  but  in  the  young  man's  heart  there  stirred, 
deep  below,  the  excitement  of  anticipation. 

Molly's  summons  to  breakfast  was  a  relief  to  both. 
It  was  answered  by  John's  hearty,  "  All  right,  Molly ! 
Be  down  at  once."  He  hurried  out  after  his  mother, 
and,  overtaking  her  at  the  top  step,  caught  her  up 
in  his  arms  and  bore  her,  laughing  and  protesting, 
to  her  place  downstairs. 

At  the  table  John  talked  cheerfully  and  persist- 
ently. He  made  a  mere  pretence  of  eating  and 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI   21 

covertly  watched  his  mother  to  see  whether  she  noted 
his  lack  of  appetite  and  was  troubled. 

The  small,  pleasant  dining-room,  being  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  wing  to  the  main  body  of  the  house,  had 
windows  on  three  sides.  The  fourth  wall,  the  solid 
one,  was  occupied  by  a  rather  dreadful  sideboard  of 
black  walnut,  flanked  by  a  door  which  led  into  the 
pantry,  thence  into  the  kitchen. 

Through  this  door  now  came  Molly's  tousled  black 
head.  "  There  be  Mi's  Hemin'way  now,  amblin'  us- 
wards  along  the  pavement,"  she  announced,  in  a  dra- 
matic whisper. 

John  sprang  to  one  of  the  street  windows  ;  not  that 
he  was  particularly  keen  on  gaining  an  earlier  view 
of  his  Aunt  Clara,  but  because  any  motion  was  a 
relief. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  said  in  consternation.  "  It's 
Aunt  Clara,  all  right.  She's  got  a  regular  market 
basket  on  her  arm.  It  looks  like  lunch." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  it  is  lunch,"  echoed  the  mother, 
peering  around  John's  bent  shoulder.  "  She  must 
have  put  one  up  for  you.  I  hope,  John,  that  you 
are  not  going  to  hurt  your  Aunt  Clara  by  refusing 
to  take  it  with  you.  She  has  always  prided  herself 
on  her  picnic  baskets." 

"  But  this  isn't  a  picnic !  Far  from  it,"  lamented 
John.  "  Now  there,  Mother,  don't  look  worried. 
I'll  take  the  thing  all  right.  But  as  soon  as  I'm 
around  the  first  railway  curve  I'll  hand  it  over  to 
the  porter." 


22  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Be  sure  to  peep  into  it  once,"  suggested  his 
companion,  "  so  that  you  can  write  and  tell  me  how 
you  enjoyed  the  different  things." 

"  Even  you  are  a  hypocrite  when  it  comes  to  hurt- 
ing other  people's  feelings,"  said  John,  but  the  smile 
he  turned  on  her  was  tender. 

Again  came  the  thrust  of  Molly's  head.  "  Mi's 
McMaster, —  oop  the  other  strate, —  wid  a  bigger 
hamper  on  her  arrum !  " 

"  This  is  too  much,"  groaned  John,  and  pretended 
to  stagger,  as  if  in  agony,  toward  the  opposite  win- 
dow. 

Mrs.  Hemingway,  now  seriously  disturbed,  fol- 
lowed swiftly. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of 
fervent  thanksgiving.  "  She  is  bringing  me  a  basket 
of  fresh  vegetables.  I  see  carrot  and  beet  tops  hang- 
ing out.  Kate  takes  such  pride  in  her  little  vegeta- 
ble garden." 

"  Thank  heaven  it's  no  worse,"  muttered  the 
young  man.  Then  returning  to  his  former  outlook, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Why !  Aunt  Clara  has  vanished !  " 

"  Oh,  she  will  come  in  through  the  kitchen.  She 
always  does.  It's  a  harmless  little  fad  of  hers," 
smiled  Mrs.  Hemingway. 

"  Mrs.  Walter,"  as  she  was  generally  called,  to 
distinguish  her  from  the  widowed  Mrs.  John  Heming- 
way, had  been  the  daughter  of  a  well-to-do  farmer 
in  the  vicinity.  In  country  districts  the  "  visiting  " 
is  almost  universally  done  through  the  service  end 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI   23 

of  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Walter,  in  spite  of  having 
been  a  town  resident  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
had  never  outgrown  the  "  back-door  habit."  She 
was,  to  use  her  own  words,  a  woman  who  "  never  put 
on  frills."  Fashionable  calls,  the  stepping  from  a 
carriage  to  mince  up  cemented  walks,  push  an  electric 
button,  and  send  a  card  in  by  a  smiling  maid,  seemed, 
in  this  downright  little  woman's  eyes,  a  frivolity  that 
bordered  upon  the  absurd. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  was  no  kinder  neighbour. 
In  times  of  sickness  and  trouble  Mrs.  Walter  was  the 
first  to  arrive  and  the  last  to  depart;  but  she  fre- 
quented, by  choice,  only  those  houses  where  she  was 
free  to  exercise  the  prerogative  of  "  stepping  in  "  at 
the  rear. 

To  hear  Aunt  Clara's  firm,  determined  approach 
and  then  catch  an  initial  sight  of  her,  gave  the  ob- 
server a  sense  of  paradox.  She  was  small  and  slen- 
der, several  inches  shorter  than  her  most  intimate 
friend,  Emma  Hemingway,  but  she  stepped  like  a 
general  reviewing  troops.  As  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, she  disdained  all  modern  innovations  in  dress, 
clinging  to  gathered  skirts  which,  always  scanty  as 
to  gathers  in  the  rear,  made  up  in  voluminousness 
over  the  hips  and  across  the  front.  Needless  to  say, 
the  hem  of  her  garments  soared  into  the  air  above 
the  toes  of  her  "  common-sense,"  heelless  shoes,  while 
dejectedly  caressing  the  floor  behind. 

On  entering  the  dining-room  where  John  and  his 
mother  stood,  smiling,  to  welcome  her,  she  softened 


24  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

her  tread  as  in  a  sick  chamber,  flashed  one  of  her 
swift,  searching  glances  from  one  face  to  the  other 
and,  advancing  toward  the  breakfast  table,  set  down 
her  burden  carefully  with  the  remark: 

"  Well,  Emma.  This  must  be  a  trying  hour  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  say  that.  It's  what  John  and 
I  have  been  wanting.  Isn't  it,  John  ?  " 

But  John  was  incapable  of  a  reply.  The  lunch- 
basket,  now  in  full  view,  displayed,  from  one  wire 
handle,  a  peculiarly  flabby  bow  of  black  crape.  He 
turned  away  quickly,  pretending  to  have  been  seized 
with  a  violent  coughing  spell. 

Aunt  Clara's  small,  bright  eyes  rested  on  him 
suspiciously.  "What's  the  matter,  John?  Swal- 
lowed a  gnat  ?  "  she  queried,  in  her  level,  monotonous 
tones. 

"  No, —  that  is,  yes !  "  stammered  John.  "  Some- 
thing seemed  to  fly  into  my  throat." 

"  It  is  too  early  for  gnats.  I've  brought  you 
some  lunch,"  pursued  the  monotonous,  slightly  rasp- 
ing voice.  It  had  always  given  John  the  effect  of 
a  coarse  cotton  tape  fed  over  rusty  cylinders. 

"  I've  put  in  all  the  nice  things  that  you  used  to 
like  as  a  boy.  There  is  a  gold-cake  with  raisins, 
and  a  pot  of  the  currant-raspberry  jam,  and  a  little 
chicken  pie  in  a  dish,  and  — " 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  good  of  you,  Aunt  Clara !  — " 

"  My  pastry  didn't  turn  out  as  short  as  it  usually 
does,"  she  went  on,  exactly  as  if  he  had  not  inter- 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI   25 

rupted.  "  It  may  be  a  mite  indigestible,  so  I  have 
put  a  little  bottle  of  soda-mint  tablets  next  to  it." 

Again  John  was  threatened  by  the  non-existent 
gnat.  His  mother  threw  him  a  warning  look. 

"  You  needn't  bother  about  sending  me  back  the 
jelly  glass  or  the  pie  dish,"  the  cotton  tape  slid  on. 
"  Both  of  them  are  nicked,  but  there  is  good  use  in 
them  yet.  If  you  don't  care  to  carry  them  to  Paris, 
you  are  pretty  sure  to  run  across  some  home-loving 
woman  on  the  train  or  the  boat  who  would  be  glad 
enough  to  have  them." 

"  I'm  sure  to,"  agreed  John,  submissively. 

"  And,  John,"  she  continued,  not  changing  voice 
or  manner  by  a  hair's-breadth,  "  I  trust  that  your 
mother  has  been  spending  these  last  moments  in  warn- 
ing you  of  the  moral  dangers  you  may  be  running 
into." 

"  Now,  Clara,"  protested  Emma  Hemingway, 
going  up  to  her  tall  son,  and  placing  a  loving  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  "  John  doesn't  need  any  advice. 
Everything  that  he  is  going  to  do  will  be  right." 

"  Of  course  you  think  so,  Emma.  You  have  never 
been  able  to  see  a  fault  in  John  from  his  birth.  But 
John  knows  what  I  mean." 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  McMaster  and  her  vegeta- 
bles proved,  for  two  of  the  company,  at  least,  a  fe- 
licitous interruption.  "  Good  mornin',  Emma.  How 
are  you,  Clara,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  brisk  nod  to 
each.  "  Well," —  here,  stooping  a  little  sidewise,  she 
deposited  her  basket,  with  a  dull  thud,  upon  the  floor 


26  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

— "  I  guess  there  ain't  anybody  ever  saw  finer  beets 
and  onions  for  this  time  of  year, —  not  to  mention 
the  spring  greens.  They  are  so  tender,  it  was  hard 
to  pick  'em." 

"  They  are  wonderful"  agreed  the  hostess  pleas- 
antly, "  and  it  was  so  kind  of  you  to  bring  them  over 
yourself,  Kate." 

Aunt  Clara,  who  had  deigned  nothing  more  than  a 
glance  either  at  the  basket  or  its  conveyor  hither, 
now  drew  from  a  pocket,  well-hidden  in  the  brown 
folds  of  her  skirt,  a  half-finished  table-mat  of  coarse 
white  thread,  and  a  small  steel  crochet  needle. 
Crossing  the  room  she  drew  up  a  rocking-chair  to 
one  of  the  street  windows,  and,  without  further 
words,  set  to  work. 

In  a  few  moments  old  Silas  Bartel,  the  hack  driver, 
appeared  for  "  Mr.  John's  trunk,"  and  the  real  bustle 
of  departure  commenced.  Other  neighbours  ap- 
peared, most  of  them  with  gifts  that  both  pleased 
and  embarrassed  the  recipient. 

"  Good  Lord !  Mother,"  he  protested,  as  he 
checked  her  on  one  of  her  flying  errands  as  she 
passed  through  the  hallway.  "  I  feel  like  a  preacher 
with  a  donation  party.  What  on  earth  am  I  going 
to  do  with  all  this  fool  stuff?  " 

"  Sh-sh-hhh !  "  she  cautioned,  in  a  whisper.  "  You 
simply  must  take  everything  with  you.  It  will  hurt 
their  feelings  dreadfully  if  you  don't." 

Aunt  Clara's  voice,  unraised  but  peculiarly  pene- 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI   27 

trating,  reached  them  from  the  room  within.  They 
sprang  apart  guiltily. 

"  By  the  way,  John.  Your  Uncle  Walter  told  me 
to  tell  you  that  he  would  be  here  in  time  to  drive 
you  to  the  station  in  his  new  buggy,  with  that  Ken- 
tucky mare  he  sets  so  much  store  by." 

"  Bully !  That  will  be  fine,"  cried  John,  now  re- 
entering  the  room  with  his  arm  around  his  mother. 

"  I  guess  it  would  be  better  for  Emma  to  go  down 
in  Silas'  hack,"  added  the  colourless  voice.  "  I  came 
prepared  to  stay  here  and  watch  the  house  while  she 
went." 

"  Mother's  not  going  to  the  station  at  all.  I've 
asked  her  specially  not  to,"  declared  John. 

Aunt  Clara  stirred.  Her  sharp  gaze,  uplifted,  ap- 
peared to  scrape  a  semicircle  on  the  floor.  John  felt 
that  he  heard  the  metallic  sound.  Her  eyes  then 
came  back  to  the  steel  barb  of  her  needle. 

"  Well,  everybody  has  their  own  way  of  doing 
things."  Her  accents  were  as  unemotional  as  the 
scallops  she  was  now  putting  around  the  border  of 
her  mat ;  yet  none  of  her  listeners  failed  to  recognise 
her  disapproval. 

Just  as  Mrs.  Hemingway  was  beginning  to  glance 
anxiously  toward  the  clock,  Walter  Hemingway  and 
his  new  buggy  clattered  up  to  the  gate. 

It  was  as  inevitable  that  Walter  should  clatter, 
as  that  his  wife  should  crochet.  He  was  a  florid, 
fine-looking  man  in  the  early  forties,  self-confessed 


28  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

as  "  something  of  a  sport,"  and  popular  with  every 
one.  He  appeared  to  be  several  years  younger  than 
his  wife,  which  was  not  actually  the  case,  and  treated 
her  with  a  careless,  good-humoured  levity  that 
formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  meticulous  defer- 
ence she  received  from  every  one  else. 

It  was  generally  conceded  that  Clara  took  excel- 
lent care  of  her  showy  husband.  She  kept  his  loud 
garments  in  perfect  order,  and  fed  his  large  body 
generously  and  well.  What,  in  her  heart,  she  felt 
toward  him,  not  even  her  closest  friend  could  guess. 
She  was  the  type  of  woman  who  would  have  accepted 
any  sort  of  a  husband  with  an  air  of  resignation,  as 
one  gets  used  to  the  shape  of  one's  nose.  There  had 
been  rumours,  from  time  to  time,  of  Walter's  "  atten- 
tions "  to  ladies  younger  and  more  attractive  than 
his  wife,  but  the  vague  gossip  never  developed  into 
scandal,  and  if  Mrs.  Walter  knew,  she  kept  her 
thoughts  to  herself. 

"  Hello,  folks !  Hope  I  ain't  late,"  cried  Walter 
now,  breezing  into  the  old-fashioned  room.  "  Ready, 
John.  Lucky  devil,  you !  Here,  let  me  lend  a  hand 
to  that  grip." 

Aunt  Clara  at  the  window  had  given  an  almost 
imperceptible  side-glance  as  her  big  husband  entered, 
but  no  word  of  greeting  passed. 

"Not  goin'  to  the  station,  Emma?"  the  loud, 
cheerful  voice  rang  out,  as  he  noticed  that  Mrs. 
Hemingway  was  still  without  her  bonnet,  and  had 
evidently  no  intention  of  going  out.  "  Sensible 


TURNS  HIS  BACK  UPON  DELPHI   29 

woman,"  he  commended,  nodding  energetically. 
"  There's  a  regular  mob  at  the  station  already. 
Just  saw  little  Tom  Fleet,  the  reporter,  John.  I 
promised  to  feed  him  up  on  some  stuff  about  you. 
There's  going  to  be  a  classy  send-off  down  there, —  I 
can  tell  you !  " 

"  John,"  whispered  the  little  mother,  edging  up  to 
her  son.  "  Come  upstairs.  I  am  beginning  to  feel 
very  tremulous.  I  would  rather  say  good-bye  in 
your  own  room." 

As  they  hurried  out  together,  Mrs.  Walter  slowly 
laid  down  her  mat.  Her  eyes  met  those  of  Kate 
McMaster,  and  for  once  there  was  sympathy  be- 
tween them.  Disgust  and  disappointment  were  visi- 
ble in  both  faces. 

"  Now,  the  next  thing,  she'll  be  locking  herself 
in,"  snapped  Mrs.  McMaster. 

Walter  took  her  playfully  by  the  arm,  and  twirled 
her  around  until  she  stood  directly  before  him. 

"  Want  to  view  the  remains,  do  you?  "  he  bantered. 
"  That's  Clara's  star-play,  too." 

"  Now,  Walter,  you  stop.  You're  alwaj's  teas- 
ing," protested  Kate  with  an  elderly  giggle.  She 
wrenched  herself  free  and  began  to  rub  vigorously 
the  arm  which  he  had  grasped.  Walter  laughed. 
Mrs.  Walter  remained  oblivious. 

In  a  few  moments  John  came  downstairs,  flushed 
as  to  face,  and  looking  very  sober. 

"  Come  on,  boy,"  cried  his  uncle,  bestowing  a 
heartening  slap  on  the  shoulder.  "  Tell  these  old 


SO  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

girls  good-bye  and  beat  it,  for  there's  a  lot  more 
waiting  at  the  station." 

"  Women  are  queer  critters,"  remarked  the  elder 
man  as  the  two  climbed  into  the  high  buggy. 
"  They'd  rather  gloat  on  their  best  friend's  misery 
than  eat." 

"  I  know  one  gentle  soul  who  wouldn't,"  returned 
John,  rather  thickly. 

"  By  George,  and  there's  another !  "  supplemented 
Walter  as  Molly  McGuire,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping, 
leaned  far  from  the  kitchen  sill  to  cry  out,  "  Good- 
bye an'  good-luck  til  ye,  Masther  Jan.  I'll  be 
lookin'  afther  the  mother  of  yer  heart." 

The  mare  started  off  at  a  spring.  John,  looking 
backward,  saw  up  at  the  window  of  the  room  which 
had  been  his  shelter  and  his  haven  for  so  many  happy 
years  a  little  grey-haired  woman,  smiling  bravely, 
and  waving  a  somewhat  sodden  pocket  handkerchief. 

He  hastily  drew  out  his  own,  and  waved  an  answer- 
ing farewell. 

Then  the  old  home  vanished. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  "  SEND-OFF  "  AT  THE  STATION 

WALTER,  all  during  the  short,  swift  drive,  kept  up 
a  high-voiced  monologue,  meant  to  cheer.  The 
young  man  at  his  side  did  not,  at  first,  take  in  a 
single  word  of  it. 

The  shod  hoofs  of  the  mare  struck  off  the  increase 
of  distance  in  audible  heartbeats.  Each  seemed  an 
impact  on  the  quivering  flesh.  Should  he  have  con- 
sented to  this  long  separation  from  his  mother,  no 
matter  what  the  personal  gain?  Was  she  not  too 
old  ?  How  old, —  to  face  the  matter  clearly, — was 
his  mother?  To  a  growing  lad  his  parents,  though 
technically  young,  always  produce  the  effect  of  a  sub- 
dued maturity  which  passes  easily  into  old  age.  He 
could  recall,  now  that  his  thoughts  were  deliberately 
turned  backward,  when  the  grey  hair  was  very 
nearly  brown;  and  once,  in  that  long-ago  time,  he 
had  heard  Aunt  Clara  say  that  "  Emma  had  broken 
something  terrible  since  her  husband's  death."  He 
had  wondered  then,  in  angry  though  vague  alarm, 
what  had  been  meant  by  "  broken." 

John  had  no  memories  of  his  father  beyond  a 
misty  impression  of  a  huge,  genial  man  who  some- 
times tossed  him  into  the  air  as  if  he  had  been  a 
plaything,  and  whose  coming  always  brightened  the 

little  mother's  face. 

31 


32  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Then  had  come  a  day  of  whispering  women  in 
the  front  parlour.  His  mother  was  not  among 
them,  for  "  father "  had  been  taken  sick,  and  she 
was  somewhere  in  the  house  nursing  him.  John  had 
not  been  allowed  to  see  either.  His  Aunt  Clara  had 
gone  upstairs  and  returned,  carrying  a  little  dress- 
ing case  packed  with  small-boy  clothes.  Later 
Uncle  Walter  had  driven  up  to  the  door,  just  as 
he  had  driven  this  very  morning, —  the  same  Uncle 
Walter  who  now  sat  talking  with  such  loud  unmean- 
ing beside  him.  He  had  been  quite  slender  then, 
but,  as  John  now  remembered,  with  the  same  bold 
eyes,  red  cheeks,  and  hearty,  strident  voice. 

He  had  called  the  child  out  to  him,  offering  to 
take  him  for  a  "  ride," —  in  the  excitement  of  which 
benefice,  John  had  failed  to  notice  that  the  dressing- 
bag  was  being  pushed  under  the  buggy  seat. 

Aunt  Clara,  shading  her  reddened  eyes,  had 
peered  upward  to  her  husband,  saying,  "  Come  back 
for  me  at  four.  Yes,  I'll  be  careful.  You  can 
bring  me  a  change  of  clothes  and  I'll  leave  these 
here  to  be  disinfected." 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Uncle  Walter  ?  "  the  child 
had  asked. 

"  Out  to  the  farm,  my  boy.  You're  to  stay  a 
whole  week,  maybe  longer." 

"  Isn't  mother  coming?  " 

"  Not  this  trip,  youngster.  She's  going  to  do  her 
house  cleaning,  and  wants  you  out  of  the  way." 


THE  "  SEND-OFF  "  33 

This  was  in  early  October.  The  leaves  of  the 
soft-maples  already  had  a  touch  of  crimson.  The 
child  knew  well  that  house-cleaning  came  at  a  time 
when  leaves  were  young.  But  it  was  useless  to  ar- 
gue with  an  Olympian. 

"  What's  that  funny  yellow  flag  the  man  is  put- 
ting on  my  house?  "  he  had  asked,  instead. 

"  Oh,"  answered  the  man,  with  a  startled  glance 
around,  "  that's  just  to  show  that  young  John  Hem- 
ingway has  gone  on  a  visit  to  his  uncle." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go.  I  want  to  stay  with  my 
mother !  "  the  child  had  cried,  stung  by  a  sudden 
terror. 

"  Here,  you  kid.  Pull  that  foot  in  or  you'll  be 
one-legged,"  commanded  the  man,  brusquely.  A 
sharp  flick  of  the  whip  started  the  old  horse  into  a 
gallop. 

John  had  never  seen  the  yellow  flag  again,  and 
he  had  never  seen  his  father  again. 

The  week  at  Uncle  Walter's  farm  had  lengthened 
into  a  month;  and  then,  one  crisp,  golden,  Novem- 
ber morning  he  had  been  told  that  his  mother  was 
coming  out  to  see  him  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  to 
make  a  little  visit  before  taking  him  back  to  town. 

All  during  that  day  the  child  had  been  in  a  state 
of  tremulous  excitement.  This  was  his  first  sepa- 
ration from  his  mother,  and  now  that  she  was  com- 
ing back,  he  knew  what  had  made  the  nights  so  long 
and  dark. 


£1  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

But  when  he  finally  caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  and 
was  running  toward  her  crying  out  his  rapture,  he 
had  suddenly  paused  and,  as  she  hastily  descended 
from  the  buggy  to  clasp  him  in  her  arms,  had 
broken  into  violent  sobbing,  and  had  run  to  hide 
himself. 

In  a  few  days  the  feeling  of  strangeness,  almost 
of  terror,  had  faded,  but  he  had  never  been  able 
quite  to  forget  the  agony  of  that  first  shock. 

Now,  again,  it  was  "  Uncle  Walter "  who  was 
bearing  him  away  from  the  little  mother.  Would 
their  next  meeting  be  a  tragedy  even  deeper? 

"  Wake  up,  old  scout !  "  cried  Walter,  giving  him 
a.  sudden  thrust  with  his  elbow.  "  You  look  like  the 
lost  chord  out  of  tune !  People  are  hailing  you  from 
the  sidewalk  and  you  don't  so  much  as  notice  them." 

"I  —  I  just  got  to  thinking,"  explained  John, 
with  an  embarrassed  little  laugh.  "  It's  over  now. 
I'm  all  right." 

"  All  right !  I  should  think  you  would  be,"  said 
the  other  with  a  deep  note  of  envy.  "  Lucky  young 
dog  that  you  are!  Wish  to  gosh  I  was  in  your 
shoes  this  minute." 

"  Maybe  you'll  come  over  later  and  join  me,"  sug- 
gested John,  forcing  himself  into  a  semblance  of 
heartiness. 

"  Not  a  chance.  Not  a  chance,"  responded  Wal- 
ter with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head.  "  Couldn't 
leave  business  for  that  long.  And,  besides," — 
here  the  jovial  grin  re-appeared — "these  fool  boys 


THE  "SEND-OFF"  35 

around  town  have  set  their  minds  on  running  me  for 
major." 

"  I've  heard  so.     You're  sure  to  get  it." 

"  Yep, —  I  believe  I've  got  it  cinched  if  I  choose 
to  take  it.  All  the  same,  I'd  rather  go  to  Paree. 
Gay  Paree !  That's  what  you  call  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"7  don't,"  laughed  John.  "I'd  be  sure  to  get 
the  pronunciation  wrong.  How  on  earth  I'm  ever 
going  to  make  myself  understood  in  that  language 
is  a  mystery.  I  hope  they  speak  English  at  the 
Academy." 

"  How  about  those  flashy  demmy-zelles  we  read 
about  ? "  laughed  Walter,  with  a  sidewise  leer. 
"Don't  you  want  them  to  know  English,  too?" 

"  Not  in  my  present  state  of  feelings,"  responded 
the  young  man,  soberly.  "  All  I  am  looking  for- 
ward to  is  hard  work,  and  getting  back  home.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  being  carried  off  to  a  penitentiary." 

"  You'll  get  over  that  soon.  Wait  till  Gabby 
Dee-lees  and  her  bunch  begin  to  make  goo-goos  at 
you !  Lord !  young  fellow,  but  it's  your  chance !  " 

A  sudden  turn,  disclosing  some  blocks  away  the 
railway  station  already  thronged  with  people  who 
had  come  to  see  John  off,  spared  him  the  necessity 
of  a  reply  to  this  nauseating  observation.  Instead, 
he  cried  out,  "  Gee  whiz  !  Look  at  the  crowd !  Do 
you  suppose  they  are  down  there  for  my  benefit  ?  " 

"  Sure  thing ! "  chortled  Walter.  "  I  warned 
you  there  would  be  a  regular  delegation.  All  they 
need  is  a  brass  band." 


36  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  them,  but  I  wish  I  were 
dead,  and  safely  buried,"  muttered  John. 

"  Cut  out  the  coy  and  modest !  "  chaffed  Walter. 
"  There's  nothing  better  for  a  young  fellow  than 
to  be  popular  in  his  home  town." 

"  And  have  a  popular  uncle,"  supplemented  John. 

"  Well,"  puffed  Walter,  his  broad  face  growing 
even  redder  under  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 
"  I  won't  say  that  Uncle  Walter  hasn't  some  little 
part  in  the  ovation.  Hullo!  There's  May  Arm- 
strong in  her  new  car.  Drivin'  it  herself,  by  Jove! 
She's  a  sport  all  right !  " 

They  both  waved  a  vigorous  greeting  in  response 
to  Mrs.  Armstrong's  laughing  nod. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  groaned  John.  "  May  has  the 
entire  back  of  the  car  heaped  with  flowers.  There 
are  enough  to  cover  the  grave  of  a  baby  elephant. 
Have  I  got  to  carry  all  the  flowers  on  board,  too?  " 

Walter  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  was  watching 
May,  and  his  bold  eyes  narrowed  as  the  young 
woman,  plump,  comely  but  a  little  over-dressed,  cut 
with  her  shining  car  across  their  path,  and  sped 
before  them  to  the  station. 

"  Needs  must,"  said  the  man  now,  by  way  of  an- 
swer, as  the  echoes  of  May's  arrogant  siren-horn 
died  in  the  air.  "  You  can  chuck  them  out  of  the 
window  at  the  first  railway  curve.  Wonder  how 
that  marriage  is  going  to  turn  out,  anyhow !  " 

"  You  mean  May  and  young  Armstrong?  " 

Walter  nodded. 


THE  "SEND-OFF"  37 

"  Well,  he  was  the  best  catch  in  town.  May  went 
for  him  and  got  him,"  remarked  John,  succinctly. 

"  Yes,"  grinned  Walter.  "  But  now  that  she's 
got  him  will  she  want  to  keep  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  May  is  a  little  vivid,"  protested  John. 
There  was  something  in  Walter's  voice  when  he 
spoke  of  women  that  always  irritated  him.  "  But 
at  heart  she's  all  right.  She'll  play  the  game." 

"  Huh-h-m,"  Walter  was  beginning,  when  the 
other,  raising  his  voice,  exclaimed :  "  Cora  Whit- 
man, in  her  electric  runabout!  Can  you  see 
flowers?  " 

"  Nary  a  flower,"  reassured  Walter.  "  But  then 
she  probably  has  a  bunch  of  forget-me-nots  tucked 
away  somewhere.  .Cora  is  our  sentimental  number." 

"  And  there's  Mrs.  Abbey,  just  landing  at  the 
station  platform  in  her  basket-pony  phaeton.  No 
floral  display  there,  either." 

"  That  old  filly  sure  makes  me  tired,"  observed 
Mr.  Hemingway.  "  She  wouldn't  bring  anything  so 
useless.  But  you  just  watch  her  hand  you  out  a 
little  package  of  books,  neatly  tied." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  were  right,"  ac- 
ceded John  with  a  grin.  "  They  will  probably  be 
a  marked  guide-book,  and  some  of  Emerson's  es- 
says. Mrs.  Abbey  has  given  me  Emerson's  '  Es- 
says '  since  I  was  five  years  old,  but  she's  a  good 
sort,  all  the  same." 

"  You're  welcome  to  her  and  all  of  her  kind,"  said 
Walter,  rudely. 


38  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

In  a  moment  more  they  were  in  the  midst  of  gift- 
laden  friends. 

Tom  Fleet,  May  Armstrong's  younger  brother, 
wearing  a  reporter's  button  for  the  Delphi  Oracle, 
used  the  talisman  as  a  lever  to  force  him  forward, 
and  keep  him  there.  His  notebook  and  pencil  were 
poised  high,  that  all  should  see.  His  bright  boyish 
eyes  snapped  with  interest  and  importance.  "  Now, 
old  man,"  he  began,  in  a  breathless  tone  which  he 
fondly  hoped  sounded  "  professional."  "  Just  a  few 
pointers,  briefly  stated,  as  to  your  aims  and  object 
in  going  abroad,  what  you  hope  to  pull  off,  your 
favourite  schools  of  archy-tecture,  how  long  you  in- 
tend to  stay,  what  you  expect  to  build  when  you 
get  back, —  and  any  old  thing  you'll  like  to  see  pub- 
lished in  the  Oracle.  I've  got  three  columns  prom- 
ised, and  I  expect  to  fill  'em  up  with  some  stuff!  " 

Charlie  Abbey,  a  clean-looking  blond  youth  with 
a  face  that  should  have  been  genial  but  which  was 
suppressed  and  discontented,  made  his  way  more 
quietly  through  the  crowd.  He  had  disdained  con- 
veyance in  his  mother's  phaeton,  an  equipage  which 
his  young  and  modern  soul  loathed,  preferring  to 
walk  down.  At  John's  elbow,  he  said  in  a  plaintive 
voice,  "  Can't  you  smuggle  me  in  as  your  valZcw/, 
John?" 

"  Wish  I  could,  Charlie."  He  was  one  of  the 
younger  set  whom  John,  and  indeed  most  other  peo- 
ple, sincerely  liked. 

"  Of  course  that's  no  good,"  continued  the  boy, 


THE  "SEND-OFF"  39 

speaking  more  earnestly.  "  But  if  you  could  make 
up  your  mind  to  write  a  series  of  Sunday-school  arti- 
cles back  home,  and  get  your  mother  to  read  them 
to  my  mother,  maybe  she'd  play  out  this  string  she 
keeps  me  tied  to,  and  give  me  a  year  with  you  in  a 
real  town.  I'm  going  to  bust,  or  murder  somebody 
in  Delphi,  if  I  don't  get  away  soon." 

"  I'll  do  it ! "  cried  John,  sympathetically. 
"  And  what's  the  matter  with  putting  in  a  word  for 
you  right  now.  I  see  your  mother  over  there.  I'll 
go  to  her." 

Laughing,  and  answering  at  random  the  many 
questions  put  to  him,  John  made  his  way,  forth- 
with, to  a  little  figure  which  stood  very  erect,  wait- 
ing, with  a  somewhat  fixed  smile,  until  the  Hero  of 
the  Hour  should  remember,  and  seek  her  out.  Mrs. 
Abbey  made  advances  to  no  one.  She  had  been 
born  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  a  fact  which  neither 
she,  nor  her  large  circle  of  acquaintances,  was  ever 
allowed  to  forget.  She  held,  at  right  angles  to  her 
stiff  little  bodice,  a  small  parcel,  neatly  tied  in  white 
paper  with  blue  ribbons.  Charlie  Abbey  remained 
hidden  behind  his  friend. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Abbey,"  began  the  latter 
in  his  very  best  manner.  He,  in  common  with  the 
rest  of  masculine  Delphi,  always  lifted  his  hat  a 
trifle  higher,  and  kept  his  head  bared  an  instant 
longer,  when  in  the  presence  of  this  gracious,  yet 
vaguely  austere  little  lady.  "  I  can't  tell  you  how 
I  appreciate  your  taking  the  trouble  to  come." 


40  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  My  dear  John,"  she  responded.  She  pro- 
nounced the  name  crisply,  at  one  bite,  as  it  were, 
giving  the  sound  of  "  Jan."  "  It  is  not  every  day 
in  the  year  that  a  fellow-citizen  adventures  forth  in 
definite  search  of  culture  and  improvement.  It  is 
but  right  that  your  friends  show  sympathy  and  ap- 
preciation. I  have  brought  you  a  little  gift."  Here 
she  extended  the  neat  parcel.  John  took  it  as  a 
child  does  a  school  prize.  "  You  need  not  trouble 
to  untie  it  just  at  present,"  she  went  on,  becoming 
more  condescending  and  impressive  as  she  noted  hoAv 
those  about  her  had  fallen  into  silence,  and  were 
hanging  upon  her  words.  "  Wait  until  you  have 
recovered  from  the  present  tension  of  leave-taking. 
In  some  hour  of  relaxation,  when  you  feel  the  need 
of  consolation  and  of  spiritual  uplift,  you  may,  per- 
haps, find  my  little  offering  a  solace." 

John  heard  a  smothered  groan  behind  him. 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times.  I'm  —  I'm  sure 
to,  Mrs.  Abbey,"  stammered  the  recipient  of  these 
lofty  phrases.  He  wished  more  than  ever  to  be 
dead.  "  By  the  way,"  he  jerked  out,  as  Cliarlie 
pulled  his  coat-tail  sharply.  "  Isn't  there  any  hope 
of  you  and  Charlie  coming  over  this  summer?  " 

"  I  fear  not,"  came  the  quick  answer.  "  I  have 
a  special  Chautauquan  course  planned  out.  The 
Oriental  Religions,  you  know,  and  their  influence  on 
modern  thought.  I  am  not  so  young  as  you,  Jan ; 
and  I  have  never  had  an  opportunity  such  as  this 
brilliant  one  that  now  shines  before  you,  but  at  least, 


THE  "SEND-OFF"  41 

in  my  own  simpler  way,  I  am  determined  to  keep 
my  mind  sympathetic,  alert,  and  in  touch  with  the 
new  things  of  this  wonderful  age  we  live  in.'5 

"How  about  coming  next  summer,  then?"  per- 
sisted John. 

In  his  eagerness,  Charlie  stepped  out  HKO  full 
view. 

"  Yes,  Mother,"  he  seconded.  "  Couldn't  we  plan 
to  go  next  summer?  " 

"  I'll  be  deathly  homesick  by  then.  It  would  be 
an  act  of  mercy,  if  you  will,"  urged  John. 

Both  pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed  hopefully  upc.i  Mrs. 
Abbey's  small  wrinkled  face.  That  arbiter  'f  des- 
tiny appeared  to  hesitate. 

'"  I  could  scarcely  commit  myself  to  such  a  step 
thus  far  in  advance,"  she  temporised.  "  SI  )uld  I 
carry  out  my  present  half-formed  intention  if  add- 
ing a  sleeping-porch  and  a  sun  parlour  to  my  house 
next  summer  — " 

"  Then  send  Charlie  over,"  blurted  out  John. 
"  I'll  promise  to  look  after  him.  Charlie  is  a  good 
boy,  anyway.  It  will  be  a  godsend  to  me." 

"  Oh,  Mother,"  breathed  Charlie,  his  youn^  face 
radiant  with  a  gleam  of  hope. 

Mrs.  Abbey's  eyes,  which  had  brightened  a  little 
under  John's  enthusiasm,  now,  meeting  those  of  her 
son,  concentrated  into  two  small  points  of  critical 
regard. 

"  If  Charles  would  only  become  interested  in  some 
line  of  study  or  research — "  she  complained. 


42  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I'll  become  interested  in  anything  you  want  me 
to,  Mater, —  anything!  "  promised  the  boy,  reck- 
lessly. 

"  That  is  just  the  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey,  with 
petty  triumph.  "  Such  a  remark  shows  that  you 
have  no  special  inclination." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  am  crazy  to 
try  and  be  a  painter,"  Charlie  flared  out,  stung  by 
the  injustice  of  this  statement. 

The  mother's  thin  lips  came  together.  "  I  do  not 
consider  that  you  have  sufficient  talent  to  warrant 
the  expenditure  of  time  and  money  which  such  a 
vocation  would  entail.'* 

Charlie  flushed  with  mortification;  but  he  still  had 
one  plea  to  make,  and  in  the  hurt  anger  of  the  mo- 
ment did  not  care  how  many  listened. 

"  Oh,  Mother !  "  he  cried  despairingly.  "  You 
won't  let  me  be  what  I  want,  and  yet  you  ridicule 
me  because  I  cannot  make  another  choice  right  away. 
How  can  I  make  a  choice  here?  It's  all  so  shut 
in!  You  feel  for  yourself  that  it's  a  big  thing  for 
John  to  go  out  into  the  world.  Why  not  give  me 
the  same  chance?  It  isn't  as  if  you  didn't  have  the 
money  — " 

"  That's  straight,  Mrs.  Abbey !  "  cried  John,  un- 
heeding the  cold  disapproval  in  the  little  woman's 
face. 

Before  Mrs.  Abbey  could  rally  her  outraged  sen- 
sibilities, May  Armstrong,  big,  hearty,  with  an  enor- 


THE  "SEND-OFF"  43 

mous  sheaf  of  hot-house  roses  nodding  over  her  left 
arm,  came  into  possession  of  the  scene. 

Cora  Whitman,  who  always  moved  with  an  effect 
of  secrecy,  in  some  way  gained  John's  other  side. 

"  Here  are  some  valley  lilies,  John,"  she  whis- 
pered, elevating  the  small,  fragrant  nosegay  in  a 
wavering  and  oblique  line,  until  it  came  into  contact 
with  John's  chin.  The  young  man  was,  by  this 
time,  on  the  verge  of  hysteria.  The  sight  of  some 
sprays  of  blue  forget-me-nots,  nestling  coyly  among 
the  lilies,  threatened  to  prove  the  last  straw  for  his 
over-burdened  self-control. 

Walter's  booming  voice,  announcing  the  approach 
of  the  train  around  "  Turner's  Bend,"  saved  him 
from  exposure  and  disgrace. 

He  was  literally  pushed  aboard.  A  mass  of  chat- 
tering friends  clambered  in  behind  him.  Each  bore 
in  one  hand  some  article  of  his  hand-luggage,  or  an 
individual  gift  of  packages  or  flowers,  and  many 
feminine  squeals  arose  at  the  height  of  the  step  they 
were  called  upon  to  ascend. 

Aunt  Clara's  crepe  bow  fluttered  with  indecorous 
excitement.  The  odours  of  sandwiches,  flowers  and 
laughing  humanity  flooded  the  narrow  Pullman 
sleeper.  Passengers  already  seated  stared  toward 
the  invasion  with  smiles,  and  began  to  look  hope- 
fully about  for  scattered  rice  and  a  giggling  bride. 

But  when  the  conductor's  long-drawn  "  All  a-boo- 
oo-a-rd ! "  started  a  merry  panic  toward  the  exit 


44  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

door,  there  was  left  at  the  window  only  a  solitary 
young  man,  brideless,  yet  flushed,  surrounded  by  a 
precarious  and  tottering  mass  of  offerings. 

The  train  slowly  moved  upon  its  way.  Cora 
Whitman  pressed  a  lace  handkerchief  to  her  pow- 
dered cheeks.  May  Armstrong,  standing  on  tiptoe, 
with  one  hand  on  Walter  Hemingway's  broad 
shoulder  for  better  support,  waved  a  last,  aerial 
"  high-ball." 

"  Good-bye,  John !  Good  luck  to  you !  Don't 
forget  to  come  back  home ! "  rose  the  chorus  of 
friendly  voices. 

As  the  little  station  disappeared,  John  mopped 
his  brow,  and  sank  back  as  if  exhausted  among  the 
shivering  pyramid  of  gifts.  Then  he  drew  in  a 
long,  long  breath  of  freedom,  not  unlike  that  of  a 
walrus,  held  overtime  in  watery  depths. 

Now,  at  last,  he  was  really  on  the  road  to 
Carcassonne  I 


CHAPTER  IV 
SUNDAY  IN  PARIS 

AGAIN  it  was  May ;  and  again  the  sparrows  chirped. 
John  Hemingway,  waking  slowly  from  a  somewhat 
troubled  sleep,  heard,  as  from  the  other  side  of  the 
world,  the  medley  of  acute,  falsetto  voices.  For  one 
blessed  moment  of  semi-unconsciousness,  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  at  home. 

The  delusion  was  but  short-lived.  "  Oh,  hang  it ! 
They  are  chirping  French ! "  he  muttered,  and 
tossed  about  with  disappointment  and  impatience. 

He  pounded  his  hard  pillow  viciously,  turned  it 
over  with  a  single  motion  of  the  arm,  and,  burrowing 
his  head  into  it,  tried  to  re-capture  sleep.  To  the 
homesick  American  those  hours  abroad  spent  other- 
wise than  in  hard  work  or  hard  sleeping,  were  wasted. 

He  had  not  grown  to  love  "  La  Belle  Paris."  Her 
much  vaunted  "  glamour  "  left  him  cold.  The  lan- 
guage was  still  a  nightmare  and  a  horror.  He  was 
convinced  that,  even  if  doomed  to  live  in  France  for 
the  rest  of  his  natural  life, —  which  Heaven  in  its 
mercy  forbid !  —  he  would  never  be  able  to  under- 
stand easily,  much  less  to  speak,  the  vivacious  and 
elusive  tongue. 

"  If  these  people  could  or  would  ever  answer  a 
question  directly !  "  he  once  complained  to  the  young 

45 


46  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Englishman  whose  draughting  board  stood  next  to 
his  in  the  Academy.  "  But  no  matter  how  hard 
I  work  to  frame  it  up  so  that  the  reply  ought  to  be 
a  simple  '  yes  '  or  '  no,'  they  only  stare  at  me,  look 
disgusted,  make  me  repeat  myself,  then  suddenly 
go  up  into  the  air  like  a  jumping- jack,  letting  off 
an  explosion  of  vocables,  at  which  I  am  so  terrified 
that  I  don't  catch  a  word." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  old  chap,"  was  the  unsmiling  re- 
j  oinder.  "  But  the  Frenchies  are  not  such  a  bad 
lot  when  you  get  to  understand  them." 

"  But  that's  just  where  I  never  expect  to  get," 
groaned  John,  for  which  gloomy  utterance  the  An- 
glo-Saxon had  no  comment  to  give. 

John  had  been  away  one  year,  and  he  felt  as 
though  it  had  been  ten.  This  was  the  anniversary 
of  his  departure  from  Delphi.  To  make  it  worse, 
the  date  had  fallen  on  Sunday,  and  the  exile  hated 
Sundays  just  a  little  worse  than  all  the  other  days 
of  the  week  combined. 

Then  the  "  Ecole  "  was  closed  to  him ;  and  though 
he  had  set  up  an  excellent  draughting  board  in  his 
little  fourth-floor  suite  just  off  the  Rue  Jacob,  the 
Sabbath  training  of  his  childhood  withheld  him  from 
doing  regular  work  on  a  day  which  he  knew  his 
mother  kept  inviolate. 

During  the  first  lonely  weeks  he  had  gone,  with 
faithful  regularity,  to  the  "  nearest  Protestant 
church,"  but  the  effect  had  been  so  to  deepen  his 
longing,  that  attendance  finally  became  unendurable. 


SUNDAY  IN  PARIS  47 

After  this  he  made  half-hearted,  solitary  little 
trips  to  well-known  suburban  places,  usually  con- 
veyed thither  on  the  top  of  those  refuges  of  the  des- 
titute, the  motor  omnibuses ;  —  but  his  ignorance 
of  the  language,  combined  with  his  envy  of  the 
happy,  chatting  family  groups  all  about  him,  caused 
the  abandonment  of  this  diversion  also. 

Gradually  Sunday  became  his  recluse  day;  its 
one  bright  spot  the  writing  of  his  long,  weekly  let- 
ter to  his  mother. 

Her  corresponding  scribal  hour  was  Sunday  after- 
noon; and  often,  at  night,  the  tedious  day  having 
crawled  away  at  last,  John  would  lean  back  in  his 
chair  and  close  his  tired  eyes,  calculating  the  dif- 
ference in  time  between  Paris  and  little  Delphi,  and 
say  to  himself,  "  There  is  eight  o'clock  striking. 
That  means  it  is  just  four  at  home.  Mother  is 
sitting  at  her  desk  by  the  dining-room  window, 
the  afternoon  sunshine  on  her  blessed  grey  head, 
writing  to  *  her  boy.' '  More  than  once  something 
warm  and  round  stole  out  from  under  the  thick 
lashes,  and  made  its  way  unchecked  along  the  man's 
cheek. 

The  year  had  brought  him  no  new  friends.  In 
crossing  the  Atlantic  his  allotted  place  at  table  had 
chanced  to  fall  among  a  group  of  lively  compatri- 
ots, seasoned  globe-trotters  who,  according  to  them- 
selves, had  been  everywhere  and  knew  everything 
worth  knowing.  They  soon  became  much  interested 
in  John's  "  career,"  asking  an  astonishing  number 


48 

of  questions  and  vouchsafing  much  unsolicited  ad- 
vice. Among  other  things  they  assured  him,  in 
positive  and  convincing  words,  that  Americans  who 
went  to  Paris  with  any  more  laudable  intention  than 
that  of  scattering  American  dollars,  were  notori- 
ously unpopular.  After  the  recital  of  many  dis- 
turbing examples  of  official  injustice  and  social  per- 
secution, given  by  way  of  establishing  the  truth  of 
their  initial  statement,  they  set  forth,  as  explana- 
tion, their  opinion  that  it  arose  from  "  pure  jeal- 
ousy " ;  the  American  student  being  invariably 
•"  smarter  "  than  those  of  other  nations  with  whom 
he  was  thrown  into  contact. 

It  was  the  fact,  however,  and  not  the  flattering 
explanation,  that  remained  with  John,  causing  him 
to  be  not  only  shy  in  making  advances,  but  sceptical 
toward  the  few  that  were  extended. 

This  isolation  kept  him  enslaved,  with  an  almost 
passionate  intensity  of  purpose,  to  the  work  for 
which  he  had  come;  and  his  improvement  had  been 
so  marked  that,  especially  of  late,  he  had  not  been 
able  to  blind  himself  to  certain  indications  of  envy 
and  dislike.  He  knew  that  among  the  "  other  fel- 
lows "  he  was  regarded  as  a  "  grind,'*  a  bit  of  a 
prig,  if  not  an  actual  "  cochon,"  than  which  term 
there  was  nothing  more  insulting  in  all  the  language. 
Through  their  averted  eyes  he  saw  himself  in  the 
light  of  an  American  hog,  who  having  had  the  good 
fortune  to  reach  this  classic  clover-field,  allowed 
himself  no  distractions  beyond  those  of  acquisition, 


SUNDAY  IN  PARIS  49 

and  was  steadily  devouring  more  than  his  legitimate 
share. 

In  his  loneliness,  and  because  of  the  morbid  sensi- 
tiveness it  was  slowly  but  surely  engendering,  John 
felt,  at  times,  a  bitter  sort  of  triumph.  "  If  they 
won't  be  decent,  at  least  they  can't  prevent  me  from 
doing  better  work,"  was  his  sneering  thought. 

But  down  in  his  heart  he  resented  it  keenly.  At 
home,  and  off  at  college,  too,  he  had  had  so  many 
friends !  It  was  with  a  distinct  and  sickening  real- 
isation of  his  present  forlorn  and  desolate  condi- 
tion that  he  lay  awake  this  Sunday  morning,  cursing 
the  sparrows,  and  dreading  the  long  hours  that  must 
pass  before  he  could  again  enter  the  now  well-known 
gateway  at  number  14,  Rue  Bonaparte,  and,  passing 
through  the  somewhat  amorphous  "  vestibule,"  enter 
those  halls  to  the  daily  scene  of  petty  ignominy  and 
essential  triumph. 

His  first  glimpse  of  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  had 
brought  a  feeling  of  incredulous  disappointment. 
Instead  of  the  gleaming  white  pillars  of  his  dreams, 
he  saw  a  group  of  uninspired  buildings,  quite  mod- 
ern, and  with  no  majesty  even  in  the  grouping. 
Here  and  there  were,  indeed,  wonderful  bits  of  meo^i- 
aeval  architecture  left  over  from  the  old  Couvent  des 
Petits-Augustins,  the  site  of  which  the  Academy  had 
pre-empted;  but  even  these  relics,  dwarfed  and 
cheapened  by  impinging  innovation,  had,  each  one 
of  them,  the  incongruous  and  pathetic  appearance  of 
some  grand  seignior  of  the  time  and  costume  of 


50  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Louis  XV,  photographed  in  a  company  of  up-to- 
date  French  officials  wearing  frock  coats  and  tall 
shiny  hats. 

After  half  an  hour  of  unhappy  reflections,  John, 
seeing  that  sleep  was  irrevocably  fled,  rose  and  went 
to  one  of  the  two  small,  square  windows  that  looked 
out  almost  directly  into  a  similar  fourth-storey  pair 
across  the  narrow  street.  By  protruding  his  head 
and  giving  it  an  upward  slant,  he  was  enabled  to 
command  a  strip  of  firmament.  As  now  he  pulled 
aside  the  faded  chintz  and  proceeded  to  execute  the 
gymnastic  feat,  he  was  conscious  of  an  ungenerous 
hope  that  the  day  was  to  prove  a  rainy  one. 

But  no!  The  ribbon  of  sky  was  as  blue  as  the 
forget-me-nots  Cora  Whitman  had  given  him  at 
parting. 

John  withdrew  his  head  slowly.  Caution  was  a 
necessary  adjunct  to  the  small  acrobatic  perform- 
ance. With  a  sigh  of  resignation  he  re-crossed  the 
room,  skirting  the  sharp  corners  of  his  draughting- 
board,  and,  jerking  at  the  long,  dangling  bell-cord 
which  had  once  been  crimson,  threw  himself  down 
again  upon  the  bed,  until  the  maid-of-all-work,  an 
over-driven  slave  most  inappropriately  called  "  Fe- 
lice," should  come  pounding  up  the  stairs  with  the 
water  for  his  collapsible  rubber  bath-tub. 

He  thought  ruefully  of  the  shining  faucets  at 
home,  and  the  ease  with  which  the  morning  bath  was 
accomplished.  Even  the  howls  of  the  watery  ban- 
shee would  now  have  been  as  music  to  his  ear.  After 


SUNDAY  IN  PARIS  51 

allowing  him  more  than  sufficient  time  for  his 
"  tub,"  Felice  would  re-ascend,  conveying  coffee, — 
or,  to  be  more  accurate,  a  dark,  strange  fluid  known 
to  his  landlady  by  that  name, —  and  with  it  would 
be  two  rolls,  one,  invariably,  of  crescent  shape,  the 
other,  less  certain  as  to  contour,  with  perhaps  the 
smooth  swelling  exterior  of  a  mushroom,  or  else  of 
a  puckered  and  ingrowing  regard,  not  unlike  the 
mouth  of  a  tobacco  pouch. 

Just  as  he  had  reached  the  limit  of  his  patience, 
and  was  about  to  give  a  second  and  more  peremptory 
summons,  the  sound  of  heavy,  slowly-advancing  feet, 
accompanied  by  rhythmic  splashing  of  water,  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  Felice. 

The  young  man  went  through  his  morning  rou- 
tine with  slow  deliberation.  On  week  days  it  was 
usually  a  scramble,  for  ahead  of  him  was  the  Ecole, 
and  work.  But  what  need  for  haste  to-day,  when 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  live  through  so  many 
long,  sunlit,  empty  hours? 

When  the  coffee-tray  arrived,  upon  it,  lying  be- 
side the  rolls,  was  a  spray  of  lilac  blooms.  "  With 
Madame's  compliments,"  explained  Felice,  nodding 
toward  them.  "  It  is  now  the  season  of  spring,  and 
these  flowers  may  serve  to  remind  the  young  mon- 
sieur of  home."  The  smile  turned  upon  him,  even 
her  plainness  of  feature  and  the  unending  drudgery 
of  her  life  had  failed  to  rob  entirely  of  youth. 

John  thanked  her,  and  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  the  room  held  the  spray  in  careless,  masculine 


52 

fashion;  but  as  the  door  closed  upon  her,  suddenly 
pressed  it  against  his  nostril  and  his  lips.  Remind 
the  young  monsieur  of  home!  If  the  kindly  souls 
only  knew! 

The  light  breakfast  over,  John  commenced  a  rest- 
less, if  restricted,  wandering.  Sometimes  he  would 
look  again  from  the  window,  as  if  hoping  that  his 
eyes  had  played  him  false  and  that  the  storm  clouds 
were  really  there;  or,  pausing  within,  would  stare 
unseeing  at  some  familiar  object,  unconscious  that  he 
scowled. 

Before  the  old-fashioned  French  table  with  small 
mirror  hung  above,  which  served  him  in  lieu  of 
dresser,  his  eyes  suddenly  met  the  reflection  of  his 
own  troubled  face.  At  the  woebegone,  almost  tragic 
expression,  he  laughed  aloud.  John  was  safe  as 
long  as  he  was  able  to  laugh  at  his  misery.  Pass- 
ing on  to  the  desk,  he  took  up  a  framed  portrait  of 
his  mother,  and  flinging  himself  down  into  the  re- 
volving chair,  studied  it  long  and  silently. 

It  was  earlier  in  the  day  than  he  usually  wrote, 
but  now  an  unconquerable  desire  to  "  have  a  chat  by 
mail,"  as  she  phrased  it,  made  him  reach  out  for  pen 
and  paper.  Her  letters,  neatly  and  chronologically 
arranged,  filled  many  of  the  pigeon-holes.  Others 
were  still  empty,  waiting  for  precious  visitors  that 
surely  were  to  come.  He  read  over  several  of  the 
more  recent,  and  in  a  short  while  was  interested  and 
immersed  in  the  transcription  of  his  adventure  of  the 
week  past.  He  seldom  confessed  that  he  was  home- 


SUNDAY  IN  PARIS  53 

sick,  and  now  gave  a  description  of  student  gaieties, 
blue  skies,  and  general  well  being,  calculated  to  re- 
assure the  most  anxious  of  mother  hearts. 

"  Later  on,"  he  wrote,  "  when  I  have  finished  this 
letter,  perhaps  I  shall  take  one  of  the  little  local 
trains  or  'busses,  and  see  whether  I  cannot  find  some 
quaint,  attractive  suburb,  not  yet  explored.  I  seem 
to  have  been  to  pretty  nearly  all  of  them ;  but  there 
is  no  harm  to  take  another  look  in  to  Mrs.  Abbey's 
guide-book.  She  has  specially  marked  nothing  but 
churches,  libraries,  picture-galleries  and  tombs,  but 
maybe  I  can  dig  out  a  new  and  untried  '  pleasure- 
resort.'  I'll  stop  here,  and  let  you  know,  later  on, 
what  I  have  been  able  to  find." 

Under  this  last  sentence  he  made  a  neat  line  of 
asterisks,  and  smiling  at  his  own  childish  pretence, 
reached  out  for  the  guide-book.  He  knew  he  had 
not  the  faintest  intention  of  going.  The  very  writ- 
ing of  the  term  "  pleasure-resort "  was  accompanied 
with  a  twisted  smile,  but  it  was  worth  while 
"  putting  up  a  bluff  "  if  it  pleased  his  mother.  He 
opened  the  thin  leaves  at  random.  "  Sevres,"  "  St. 
Cloud,"  "Meudon,"  "St.  Germain,"  "  Pontoise." 
He  had  been  to  them  all  and,  apart  from  a  few  in- 
teresting bits  of  architecture,  they  remained  in  his 
memory  as  little  more  than  a  collocation  of  unpro- 
nounceable names.  He  would  try  for  something  in 
a  different  direction.  The  pages  went  rapidly. 
Suddenly,  without  quite  knowing  why,  he  checked 
their  flight.  "  Chatillon,"  "  Fontenay-aux-Roses." 


M 

At  least  "  roses  "  was  intelligible ;  but  on  the  page 
opposite  his  eye  caught  the  printed  name  of  "  Rob- 
inson." He  smiled  at  the  incongruity.  Of  course 
the  French  people  would  never  speak  it  as  it  was 
written.  The  vowels  would  slip  and  writhe  like  wet 
eels,  and  most  of  the  consonants  be  left  suspended  in 
the  midair  of  speech.  But  to  him,  at  least,  it  was 
free  to  remain  just  "Robinson."  Toying  with  the 
fancy,  he  uttered  the  word  aloud,  and  then  restated 
it,  with  the  name  "  Jack "  in  front.  If  ever  he 
should  undertake  another  trip,  it  would  surely  be  to 
Jack  Robinson.  Poetic  justice  hinted  that  such  a 
starting  should  be  quick.  John  laughed  and  shook 
his  head.  Then  he  laughed  again,  without  the 
shake.  "  By  George,  I'll  do  it ! "  he  announced, 
slapping  his  hand  down  upon  the  desk.  "  And  I'll 
go  this  very  day !  " 

The  letter  was  finished  in  a  vein  of  brightness  that 
did  not  need  his  tender  hypocrisy  to  make  it  real. 
He  sealed  and  stamped  it,  then  went  into  his  great 
mahogany  amoire  in  search  for  real  "  Sunday 
clothes." 

The  air  blowing  in  through  his  flowered  cur- 
tains already  breathed  warmth.  Surely  he  could 
wear  that  grey  suit,  the  one  his  mother  had  liked 
best!  As  the  new  toilet  proceeded,  John  was  sur- 
prised to  find  himself  whistling. 

A  sprig  of  lilac,  carefully  detached,  was  placed  in 
his  buttonhole.  When  all  was  finished,  he  could  not 
forbear  a  pleased  glance  into  the  mirror.  Colour 


SUNDAY  IN  PARIS  55 

had  mounted  into  his  cheeks,  and  the  rich  tones  con- 
trasted well  with  the  soft,  dull  grey  of  cloth,  the 
grey-green  necktie,  and  the  fleck  of  mauve  on  his 
left  lapel. 

"  Why,  I'm  a  regular  sport ! "  he  told  himself. 
"  I  wonder  what's  come  over  me,  anyhow !  I  feel  as 
if  something  was  going  to  happen !  " 

After  a  hasty  look  through  his  pockets  to  see  that 
he  carried  sufficient  change,  he  caught  up  the  letter 
and,  still  whistling,  made  his  way  down  the  three 
narrow  flights  of  stairs. 


CHAPTER  V 
WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  AT  ROBINSON'S 

AFTER  some  thought  John  had  decided  to  avoid, 
for  once,  his  usual  means  of  locomotion,  the  omnibus 
top,  and,  instead,  take  the  tram  line  which,  his 
schedule  informed  him,  started  from  St.  Germain- 
des-Pres,  just  around  the  corner.  He  would  go  to 
its  terminal,  the  little  town  of  Sceaux,  from  which  it 
was  but  a  short  walk  to  his  destination. 

The  inexplicable  feeling  of  buoyancy  persisted. 
Mrs.  Abbey's  guide-book  had  told  him  little  except 
that  "  Robinson  "  was  "  charmingly  situated  at  the 
foot  of  a  wooded  hill,"  was  noted  for  its  "  garden- 
cafes,"  and  had  platforms  built  up  in  its  large  chest- 
nut trees. 

Next  to  the  homely  magnet  of  its  name,  it  was  the 
thought  of  these  tree-platforms  that  had  allured 
him.  How  many  years  had  it  been  since  he,  with 
the  "  other  boys  "  of  Delphi,  had  built  houses  up 
among  branches?  He  found  himself  wondering  a 
little  how  a  "  grown-up  "  was  going  to  feel  in  sur- 
roundings so  essentially  those  of  childhood. 

The  little  yellow  car  at  St.  Germain-des-Pres  was 
crowded  before  its  initial  start ;  but  somehow,  to-day, 
he  felt  neither  impatience  nor  envy.  He  watched, 
with  interest,  the  various  groups  du  famille,  being 

56 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  57 

particularly  attracted  to  the  children.  Noting  the 
play  of  their  red  lips  and  the  rapidity  with  which  the 
liquid,  colloquial  phrases  poured  through  them,  he 
recalled,  smilingly,  the  story  of  the  English  lad  who, 
having  suffered  under  a  French  governess  for  some 
years  and  being  brought  to  Paris  for  the  first  time, 
exclaimed  in  astonishment,  "  Why,  even  the  babies 
speak  French  over  here !  " 

To-day  John  almost  wished  himself  a  French 
baby.  The  thought  that  when  his  luncheon  hour 
came  he  would  have  to  order  it  in  the  native  tongue 
and  partake  of  what  the  waiter  chose  to  bring  him 
in  a  wordless  solitude,  dulled  for  a  moment  the  bright- 
ness which  so  far  had  accompanied  him. 

He  frowned  slightly,  and  stared  out  from  his  win- 
dow. The  entire  country  was  in  holiday  garb.  Li- 
lacs and  yellow  'acacias  nodded  -everywhere.  The 
young  grass  was  starred  with  dandelions  and  the 
small  pink  and  white  French  daisies.  Dominating 
each  group  of  station  buildings  stood  great  chestnut 
trees  in  full  bloom.  Upon  spreading,  broad-leaved 
branches  were  set  thousands  upon  thousands  of  the 
stiff  little  floral  candelabra,  crowding  so  thickly  that 
from  a  little  distance  each  tree  flashed  like  a  pyra- 
mid of  snow. 

Among  them,  John  peered  in  vain  for  *'  plat- 
forms." These  apparently  had  been  reserved  as  the 
special  prerogative  of  "  Robinson." 

At  Sceaux  the  tram  was  emptied.  John  loitered 
about  the  small  town  for  a  glimpse  of  the  grounds, 


58  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

now  a  public  park,  that  once  surrounded  the  famous 
chateau  of  the  Due  de  Maine,  and  then  turning,  by 
guide-book  direction,  into  the  Rue  du  Plessis  Piquet 
—  (he  could  never  have  summoned  up  the  courage  to 
ask  for  it)  —  walked  briskly  forward. 

Soon  a  cluster  of  trees  so  incredibly  tall  and  white 
that  they  seemed  an  aggregation  of  giant  tents,  told 
him  that  his  journey  was  nearing  its  end.  "  Jour- 
neys end  in  lovers'  meeting,"  came  from  somewhere, 
singing  through  his  brain.  He  laughed  a  little  bit- 
terly at  the  sarcasm.  Let  him  get  through  the  day 
without  a  too-devastating  attack  of  homesickness, 
and  back  to  work  in  the  morning;  that  was  the  best 
he  could  wish  for. 

The  "  wooded  hill "  rose,  according  to  schedule, 
just  beyond.  Groups  of  merry-makers,  already  pre- 
paring for  a  sylvan  dejune,  were  spreading  white 
cloths  upon  the  grass  and  beginning  to  unpack  neat 
hampers.  "  The  trees  must  all  be  full,"  thought 
John,  with  dismay.  A  great  chattering,  as  of  hu- 
man sparrows,  from  the  shady  spaces  overhead  cor- 
roborated this  apprehension.  Looking  up  he  saw 
children  hanging  precariously  over  rustic  balconies, 
and  noted,  what  had  until  then  escaped  him,  that 
about  the  great  bole  of  each  tree  wound  a  flight  of 
narrow  wooden  steps. 

From  tree  to  tree  he  wandered,  his  chin  hopefully 
upturned,  only  to  find  them  all  pre-empted.  A  short 
distance  up  the  hill-slope  stood  several  white,  one- 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  59 

storey  restaurants  with  golden  signs  of  invitation, 
disproportionately  large.  Before  them  were  sanded 
terraces  on  which  round  iron  tables  and  spidery 
chairs  crowded  thickly.  Many  of  these  also  were 
occupied.  Waiters,  with  the  inevitable  snowy  servi- 
ette hung  stiffly  over  the  left  arm,  insinuated  them- 
selves smilingly  among  the  seated  groups. 

John  walked  disconsolately  to  a  far  corner  of  a 
terrace.  No  one  appeared  to  be  conscious  that  he 
existed.  He  gazed,  with  even  greater  longing,  into 
the  trees.  Now  he  felt  an  almost  childish  petulance. 
"  These  idiots  must  come  out  here  at  dew/break,"  he 
muttered. 

But  there  was  no  use  loitering  in  the  scene  of  his 
disappointment.  He  felt  no  inclination  for  luncheon 
so,  throwing  back  his  broad  shoulders,  he  stepped 
out  upon  the  slope  to  the  right  and  began  an  ascent 
of  the  hill. 

His  path,  which  had  been  a  clean-cut  diagonal, 
suddenly  made  a  sharp  turn  upward,  and  appeared 
to  lose  itself  among  overhanging  shrubs.  Making 
his  way  slowly,  he  stumbled  against  the  foot  of  a 
very  dilapidated  stairway  that  twisted  in  wedge- 
shaped,  horizontal  flanges  up  into  a  tree  so  old  and 
bent  and  huge  that  it  might  easily  have  been  great- 
grandfather to  the  flowering  colony  whose  shining- 
summits  rose  just  beneath. 

"  What  luck  if  this  old  behemoth  should  be 
empty !  "  the  young  man  thought.  He  gave  a  quick, 


60  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

appraising  glance  aloft.  The  platform  was  indeed 
devoid  of  tenants.  He  could  just  see  that  aerial 
benches  surrounded  the  great  rough  trunk. 

"  Good  work  !  "  he  cried  aloud,  and,  unheeding  the 
danger  of  too  precipitous  an  ascent,  sprang  upward 


The  shaky  ladder  had  curved  twice,  so  that  he 
emerged  at  a  point  just  opposite  that  from  which 
he  had  taken  his  first  survey;  and  it  was  not  until 
his  entire  six  feet  of  Americanism  stood  upright  on 
the  shivering  floor  that  he  became  conscious  of  a 
woman's  presence. 

She  was  seated,  motionless  and  upright,  against 
the  tree.  She  did  not  move  or  speak  at  his  instan- 
taneous recoil  and  suppressed  cry  of  consternation. 
On  the  bench  beside  her  lay  her  broad-brimmed  hat. 
John,  even  in  the  first  shock,  was  aesthetically  con- 
scious of  the  beauty  of  its  wreath  of  dull  pink  roses, 
and  the  long,  drooping  streamers  of  silvery  grey. 
The  lady  was  all  in  grey,  the  colour  of  the  tree- 
shadows,  and  her  face,  with  its  pointed  chin,  was  as 
white  and  delicate  as  the  blossoms  above  her.  Her 
mouth  was  straight,  and  had  somehow  a  guarded 
look,  but  he  could  see  how  the  corners  of  it  were 
quivering  in  lurking  amusement. 

"  Oh  !  I  —  I  —  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered, 
feeling  backward,  with  one  foot,  for  the  stairs  just 
quitted.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  the  tree  was  occu- 
pied," he  went  on,  as  she  vouchsafed  no  word.  "  I 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  61 

looked  before  I  came  up.  I  assure  you  that  I 
looked." 

Still  the  lady  did  not  speak. 

John  retraced,  miserably,  two  more  of  the  creak- 
ing steps.  His  knees  were  now  on  a  level  with  the 
platform,  so  that  he  could  look  more  directly  into 
the  white,  quiet  face.  Her  lips  had  become  grave; 
but  her  eyes,  shadowed  by  a  great  mass  of  gold- 
brown  hair,  seemed  to  hold  a  smile  of  mockery. 

"  Darn  the  woman !  Why  couldn't  she  say  some- 
thing to  help  me  from  feeling  quite  such  a  fool? 
Even  if  she  knew  nothing  but  her  own  beastly,  slip- 
pery language,  she  could  be  decently  courteous  in 
that." 

Two  more  steps  back  and  downward!  John  felt 
himself  retreating  into  a  martyr's  grave.  His 
waistcoat  buttons  rasped  against  the  projecting 
boards.  With  each  inch  of  withdrawal  he  grew  red- 
der and  more  indignant.  His  straw  hat,  which  had 
been  held  deferentially  in  air,  was  now  slapped  back 
into  place. 

"  I  can't  speak  your  language,  or  I  should  have 
apologised  in  that,"  he  burst  out,  angrily.  With  the 
words  he  wrenched  his  eyes  from  hers,  feeling  them 
turned  to  more  useful  account  in  helping  him  de- 
scend the  absurd  stairway.  To  pitch  headlong  to 
earth,  probably  breaking  a  leg  in  the  performance, 
and  having  to  lie  there  prone  until  some  Samaritan 
came  along  and  carted  him  off  to  a  hospital,  and 


62  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

all  the  while  that  strange  woman  to  sit  overhead, 
motionless  against  her  tree,  smiling  like  a  sibyl  and 
staring  out  into  space  with  great  shadowed,  mock- 
ing eyes, —  no, —  this  would  be  a  little  more  than 
human  fortitude  could  stand! 

He  turned  his  back  deliberately.  A  sudden  soft 
swish  of  silk  told  him  that  the  Lady  of  the  Tree 
had  moved.  Her  voice,  with  its  trace  of  foreign  ac- 
cent, came  softly. 

"  You  are  an  American,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  and  paused. 

"  The  men  of  your  country  are  to  be  trusted,"  she 
remarked  thoughtfully,  as  if  to  herself. 

John  smiled  by  way  of  answer.  He  hoped  it  was 
a  cynical  and  worldly  smile.  He  would  not  meet  her 
eyes  again.  On  the  other  hand,  he  made  no  move 
toward  the  next  step  lower.  It  was  ridiculous 
enough  for  a  woman  to  be  talking  to  his  head  and 
shoulders;  the  head,  alone,  would  be  even  more  ab- 
surd. 

"  This  is  the  only  tree  in  Robinson  without  the 
very  large  party  in  it,"  the  soft  voice  continued. 
"  If  it  is  your  desire  to  remain  — "  A  little  French 
gesture,  careless  and  utterly  devoid  of  coquetry, 
completed  the  sentence. 

John  turned  to  her  a  little  unwillingly.  He  did 
desire  to  remain.  He  was  conscious  of  desiring  it 
greatly,  and  yet  — 

"  I  fear  that  I  could  not  help  feeling  myself  an 
intruder,"  he  said,  stiffly. 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  63 

The  grey  clad  shoulders  shrugged.  "  It  is  as 
monsieur  wishes,  of  course,"  she  rejoined,  in  a  tone 
of  light  amusement.  "  The  tree  is  not  mine." 

As  he  still  stared,  frowning  in  indecision,  she 
raised  the  brim  of  her  recumbent  hat  and,  draw- 
ing out  a  book,  calmly  opened  it  and  began  to 
read. 

John's  face  burned  as  if  she  had  struck  it.  He 
gave  an  angry  downward  thump.  The  board  split 
under  him.  He  drew  back  hastily  and,  throwing  a 
hurried,  angry  glance  to  see  whether  his  companion 
had  noticed  it,  caught  her  as  she  pressed  a  scrap  of 
linen  against  her  lips  to  check  their  laughter. 

"  What  an  utter  idiot  you  must  be  thinking  me !  " 
John  blurted  out.  Any  utterance,  however  crass, 
would  be  better  than  this  clownish  avoidance  of 
facts.  "  The  truth  is,  I'm  an  utter  stranger  here. 
I  have  never  spoken  to  a  French  lady  before,  and 
am  absolutely  at  a  loss  how  to  behave." 

"  An  American, —  and  at  a  loss  !  "  she  murmured, 
with  a  slight  lift  of  the  delicate  brows. 

"  It's  the  truth." 

She  started  to  reply,  checked  the  words  that 
parted  her  lips,  and  gave  a  low  laugh. 

"  Don't  stop !  "  cried  John,  eagerly.  Then  he, 
too,  laughed,  and  all  at  once  the  constraint  fell  from 
him.  "  You  were  going  to  say  something ;  and  then 
you  stopped." 

She  drooped  her  white  lids.  The  most  fascinat- 
ing, tiny  of  dimples  showed  at  the  upper  left  corner 


64  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

of  her  mouth.  "  I  fear  it  would  have  the  sound  of 
great  rudeness." 

"  Never  mind.  You  couldn't  be  any  ruder  than 
I've  been.  I  want  to  hear." 

"  Then  you  shall,"  she  acquiesced,  demurely.  "  I 
was  merely  going  to  ask,  monsieur,  why,  if  you  are 
at  a  loss  when  you  arrive, —  did  you  have  the  wish 
to  arrive?  " 

"Arrive  where?"  he  fenced.  "Here  at  Robin- 
son's,—  or  Paris?  " 

"Oh,"  she  rejoined,  with  her  delicate  shrug, 
"  anywhere, —  that  is  away  from  America." 

"  It  was  not  for  pleasure ;  you  can  be  sure  of 
that,"  the  young  man  asseverated.  "  I  am  here  for 
hard  work  only." 

At  this  she  gave  a  long-drawn  "  Ah-h-h !  "  and 
afterward  questioned  gently,  though  always  with  the 
little  undercurrent  of  banter,  "  and  how  long  has 
it  been  ?  This  coming  not-f or-pleasure  ?  " 

"  A  whole  year,"  he  groaned.     "  A  year  to-day." 

She  was  silent,  but  her  dark  eyes  rested  on  him 
kindly. 

"  Then  this  day  is  by  way  of  being  the  —  what 
do  you  say  —  the  anniversaree  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  clipped  briefly,  and  began  to  stare  out 
among  the  branches. 

He  felt  that  she  leaned  closer.  "  And  there  are 
—  at  home  in  America  —  those  you  miss  and  care 
for?  " 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  65 

"  Only  my  mother."  As  an  afterthought  he  flung 
in,  "  and  my  friends." 

She  laughed  softly.  He  had  never  before  real- 
ised what  subtle  suggestions  and  intonations  could 
be  transmitted  through  a  laugh. 

"  Ahe, —  the  pauvre  friends,"  she  sighed.  "  They 
do  come  so  long  a  way  after  the  —  mother !  " 

"  Well,  they  do ! "  he  muttered,  rather  thickly. 
Something  had  suddenly  risen  in  his  throat.  The 
strange  woman's  voice,  as  she  whispered  the  name 
"  mother,"  vibrated  like  a  harp  string  that  stretched 
the  length  of  his  homesick  soul.  Through  the  deep 
silence  that  now  fell  he  could  hear  the  echoes  shiver. 
He  did  not  wish  to  speak,  only  to  be  there,  silent, 
and  listen  as  the  harmonies  faded,  one  by  one. 

At  length  her  voice  came  to  him, —  that  wonder- 
ful, vibrant  voice  with  its  minor,  upward  lift. 

"  Do  you  chance  to  know  well  the  Galerie  du  Lux- 
embourg? " 

John  pulled  himself  together  with  a  start.  At 
first  her  question  seemed  a  discord. 

"  No,"  he  managed  to  answer.  "  I  have  never 
been  there." 

"  I  should  have  thought  — "  she  began,  then  again 
checked  herself.  This  was,  apparently,  a  little  man- 
nerism of  her  own. 

"  Yes,"  he  queried,  politely. 

"  I  asked,  monsieur,"  she  explained,  gently,  "  be- 
cause there  is  in  the  Galerie  du  Luxembourg  the  most 


66  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

tender  and   beautiful   portrait   of   a   mother   in   the 
whole  world.     It  is  of  the  great  artist,  Whistlei*." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  of  course,"  he  said  with  an 
attempt  at  commonplaceness.  As  he  spoke,  he 
passed  his  hand  along  his  forehead  and  up  through 
the  thick  clustering  hair.  "  Once  or  twice  I 
started,  just  to  see  that  picture,  but  —  somehow  - 
Already  he  had  caught  her  trick  of  stopping  short. 

To  this  she  said  nothing.  John,  seating  himself 
for  the  first  time,  looked  squarely  into  the  face  now 
on  a  level  with  his  own.  Was  it  his  imagination,  or 
did  she  imperceptibly  shrink  away?  And  was  that 
a  look  of  hurt,  almost  of  fear,  that  deepened  in  her 
eyes  ? 

"  Are  you  too  parted  from  a  mother  that  you 
love?  "  he  broke  out,  as  if  impelled. 

Now  the  shrinking  was  unmistakable.  She  took 
her  eyes  from  his,  and  straightened  her  shoulders 
against  the  tree.  "  I  have  no  mother,"  she  answered, 
in  a  colourless  voice.  "  She  is  dead." 

John  bit  his  under  lip,  and  cursed  himself  for  a 
clumsy  fool.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  — "  he 
was  beginning,  when  she  cut  him  short.  It  was  but 
a  single  gesture,  an  imperious  lifting  and  downward 
stroke  of  the  hand.  John  fancied  that  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  a  dagger. 

"  Cause  yourself  no  distress,  monsieur."  Her 
words,  too,  had  the  glint  of  steel.  "  I  did  not  love 
my  mother  while  she  lived." 

Again  silence  fell.     A  chill,  as  of  autumn,  crept 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  67 

into  it.  From  a  great  distance  could  be  heard  the 
chime  of  human  laughter,  the  click  of  knives  and 
forks  against  porcelain,  and  the  hoot  of  a  motor- 
horn  speeding  toward  them  on  the  road  from  Sceaux. 

Unahle  to  endure  the  strain,  John  rose  and  walked 
to  the  edge  of  the  platform. 

"  That  is  well,"  the  clear,  icy  tones  encouraged 
him.  "  Please  feel  yourself  entirely  at  ease,  mon- 
sieur. I  will  now  resume  my  book, —  a  French 
novel,  of  course."  Her  brief  laugh  was  a  sting. 

The  young  man  half  circled  the  tree,  taking  his 
place  on  the  bench  as  far  away  from  his  companion 
as  was  possible.  He  was  repelled,  and  in  some 
vague,  yet  poignant  way,  cheated.  Why  should  she 
have  said  thus  openly,  to  a  stranger,  that  she  had 
not  loved  her  mother?  It  would  scarcely  have  been 
worse  had  she  stated  a  disbelief  in  God !  Probably 
she  was  one  of  those  "  advanced "  women  thinkers 
who  take  delight  in  outraging  the  creeds  and  sensi- 
bilities of  others.  Certainly  she  did  not  look  like 
his  preconceived  idea  of  a  suffragette,  or  even  an 
atheist.  But  what  need  to  tell  him  that  about  her 
mother?  And  the  parting  fling  about  the  book  was 
almost  childish.  To  John's  western  mind  all  mod- 
ern French  novels  were  merely  text-books  for  sensu- 
alists. She  was  evidently  determined  to  foster  no 
illusions. 

He  sat  very  still.  From  time  to  time  she  turned 
a  page.  As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  he  had  al- 
ready ceased  to  exist.  Once,  as  the  breeze  fresh- 


68  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ened,  there  was  a  great  flutter  of  paper,  followed 
by  a  slap,  and  an  impatient  French  exclamation; 
after  which  the  rhythmic,  slow  turning  went  on. 

The  moments  passed  —  whether  swiftly  or  tardily 
he  had  no  power  to  determine.  The  thought  of 
looking  at  his  watch  did  not  occur.  In  spite  of  what 
he  consciously  termed  his  disappointment,  there  was 
unmistakable  excitement  in  knowing  that  she  was 
so  near,  that  he  had  only  to  lift  his  voice  and  she 
would  answer  him.  But  did  he  wish  further  speech 
with  so  unnatural  a  woman? 

A  soft  rustling  of  silk  warned  him  that  she  had 
risen.  He  held  his  breath  to  follow  every  sound. 
The  book  was  laid  down  with  a  soft  thud,  and  now, 
evidently,  she  was  taking  up  her  hat.  The  process 
of  readjusting  this  very  charming  article  of  attire 
was  a  lengthy  one.  She  seemed  hours  at  it.  Now 
she  was  on  her  feet,  moving  across  the  boards.  Was 
it  not  a  matter  of  sheer  decency  that  he  should  offer 
to  assist  her  down  the  precarious  wooden  cork- 
screw ? 

He  was  bending  forward  to  rise,  when  suddenly 
she  stood  before  him,  tall,  slender  and  grey-clad, 
against  the  green  and  white  tapestry  of  the  branches. 

"  No,  monsieur.  Remain  seated.  It  is  my 
wish,'"  she  commanded.  The  swift  dagger-gesture 
pinned  him  to  the  bench.  "  I  am  now  to  depart  — 
alone.  But  first  —  it  is  for  my  own  satisfaction  — 
I  desire  to  say  two  things." 

"  You  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  attempt  to  ac- 


WHAT  BEFELL  JOHN  69 

company  you,"  exclaimed  John.  "  But  in  the  part 
of  the  world  where  I  come  from,  men  don't  remain 
seated  while  women  stand."  At  the  words  he  sprang 
up,  his  hat  held  aside,  his  eyes,  rather  stern  and 
masterful,  set  squarely  on  hers. 

"  As  you  will,"  she  shrugged. 

"  Well,  I  am  listening." 

She  gave  him  a  long  look.  Her  flexible  lips  trem- 
bled with  something  like  scorn,  but  which  quickly 
changed  to  pathos.  "  This  book,"  she  began,  ex- 
tending it  toward  him.  "  It  was  silly  and  untrue  to 
call  it  a  novel." 

He  took  it  into  his  hand.  " '  The  Divine  Mys- 
tery,' by  Allen  Upward,"  he  read  aloud.  "  And  in 
English!" 

"  Yes,  it  is  such  books  that  I  read.  But  when 
I  saw  I  had  given  you  the  shock  —  a  foolish  desire 
came  —  well,  never  mind!  As  to  the  thing  that 
shocked  you  — " 

In  the  pause,  her  eyes  fell,  and  when  she  spoke 
her  voice  held  bitterness,  but  an  intense  sorrow.  "  It 
has  been  the  tragedy  of  all  my  life  that  I  could  not 
love  my  mother.  You  are  the  happy  one,  mon- 
sieur." 

Swiftly  as  a  shadow  passes,  she  was  gone. 

Involuntarily  the  young  man  moved  to  the  other 
side  of  the  tree.  At  the  top  step  she  paused,  look- 
ing around  over  one  shoulder.  "Perhaps  thi "j  is 
a  third  thing  to  say,"  she  smiled,  though  her  eyes 
were  still  dark  and  tragic. 


70  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  You  took  me  for  a  Frenchwoman, —  but  I  am 
American  —  all  —  all  American !  "  she  laid  one  slen- 
der hand  upon  her  heart.  "And  I  am  as  friend- 
less here  as  yourself." 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHISTLER'S  PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER 

IN  reviewing  through  many  hours  to  come  the  events 
of  that  memorable  day,  John  was  never  quite  clear 
as  to  the  manner  in  which  the  remainder  of  it 
passed. 

There  was  a  hazy  impression  of  slowly  gathering 
darkness  and  a  shrill  tree-toad.  Then  he  had  me- 
chanically descended,  step  by  step,  the  winding  lad- 
der and,  making  his  way  to  the  well-nigh  deserted 
terraces,  ordered  the  first  articles  of  food  that  came 
into  his  dazed  mind.  He  had  eaten  mechanically, 
without  caring  what  it  was  his  knife  cut  or  his  fork 
lifted. 

His  brain  was  a  forest  in  which  all  the  shy  hidden 
denizens  had  been  suddenly  aroused.  Thoughts  and 
startled  imaginings  peered,  as  it  were,  from  secret 
nooks,  and  a  covey  of  the  bolder  stepped  forth,  fol- 
lowing into  the  open  the  trail  of  a  shadow-grey, 
swaying  figure,  crowned  with  pink  roses.  If,  for  a 
moment,  the  questing  fancies  paused,  one  turn  of 
the  white,  pointed  chin  over  a  shadow  shoulder,  and 
they  rushed  forward  in  a  more  ardent  pursuit. 

Each  word  that  had  been  spoken,  the  intonation 
of  every  sentence,  not  only  of  the  Strange  Woman, 

but  his  own  halting,  inadequate  speech  was  regis- 

71 


72  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

tered  in  memory  as  though  upon  the  steel  disc  of  a 
phonograph. 

Now  he  began  to  recast,  in  more  telling  phrases, 
his  share  of  the  brief,  unsatisfactory  dialogue. 
"  Wit,"  according  to  the  French  cynic,  "  can  be  de- 
fined as  something  brilliant  one  might  have  said, — 
and  didn't !  "  John  was  to  prove  for  himself,  many 
times  over,  the  truth  of  this  discouraging  axiom. 
He  grew  bitterly  resentful  of  his  own  narrow  and 
unsympathetic  attitude.  The  disclosure  which,  at 
the  onset,  had  instinctively  repelled  him,  became 
gradually  the  source  of  an  almost  tender  compassion. 
How  swift  he  had  been  to  misjudge! 

He  had  dared  to  think  that  high,  free  soul  indeli- 
cate when,  from  the  first,  it  was  he  who  had  been 
crude, —  a  conventional  prig,  a  dull,  self-righteous 
Pharisee !  Had  he  not  shut  his  warped  mind  against 
her  as  a  hypochondriac,  at  the  first  breath  of  pure 
air,  hastens  to  lower  his  creaking  window,  he  might 
have  found  words  of  solace  and  of  strength. 

She,  too,  was  lonely.  How  her  dark  eyes  had 
deepened  as  she  said  it !  Fate,  itself,  had  perhaps 
brought  them  together,  and  he,  by  his  shallow 
bigotry,  had  let  the  opportunity  go  by.  With  each 
recurrence  of  this  devastating  thought,  John  cursed 
himself. 

Yes,  she  was  gone!  Gone  as  utterly  and  irre- 
^cably  as  the  gleam  of  a  bird's  wing  over  water. 
While  he  had  stared  at  the  bright  reflection,  debat- 
ing whether  or  not  it  was  quite  to  be  desired,  the 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  73 

winged  guest  had  vanished.  Well,  he  deserved  it. 
Regret  was  worse  than  useless.  She  was  out  of  his 
grey  life  forever,  and  had  left  no  clue,  not  even  that 
of  a  name.  In  this  huge  ferment  of  a  city  there 
was  not  one  chance  in  millions  that  they  would  meet 
again.  To  attempt  to  do  so  would  be  as  useless  as 
regret,  and  more  humiliating.  Yet  at  the  moment 
of  making  this  despondent  asseveration  he  was  con- 
scious, down  in  his  heart,  that  next  Sunday  would 
find  him  early  at  the  chestnut  tree. 

He  did  not  turn  his  care-laden  shoulders  away 
from  Robinson  until  the  suburban  arc  lights  had 
begun  to  flash,  and  the  sky  above  distant  Paris  trem- 
bled into  a  dome  of  faint,  ethereal  radiance.  During 
the  tram-ride  home  he  found  himself  looking  about, 
like  a  love-sick  schoolboy,  for  the  hope  of  a  glimpse 
of  long  grey  draperies  and  a  pink-wreathed  hat. 

Alighting  at  St.  Germain-des-Pres  he  made  his 
way  to  the  pavement  in  such  unseeing  haste  that  he 
very  nearly  overturned  the  wheeled  booth  of  an  old 
flower-seller,  just  rearranging  her  wares  for  decamp- 
ment. Among  the  blue  ragged-robins  and  stiff  yel- 
low iris,  his  eye  caught  a  mass  of  close-set  roses. 
Pointing  toward  them,  he  tried  to  ask  the  price.  As 
if  released  by  a  spring,  the  old  crone  wheeled  about, 
exploding  into  the  geyser  of  liquid  vocables  that  his 
soul  dreaded.  John  smiled  deprecatingly  and  shook 
his  head,  to  let  her  know  he  couldn't  understand. 
At  this  her  cracked  voice  leaped  higher.  She  made 
wild  gesticulations  toward  her  store,  apparently  giv- 


74  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ing  the  pedigree  of  each  separate  bloom.  John 
drew  out  a  franc  which  he  held  conspicuously  in  his 
left  hand  while,  with  the  right,  he  leaned  over,  select- 
ing a  modest  posey.  Far  from  being  placated  either 
by  John's  franc  or  his  restraint,  the  beldame's  ex- 
citement flared  into  a  veritable  St.  Vitus  dance  of 
rage.  She  tossed  her  lean  arms  like  branches,  and 
seemed  to  be  calling  down  the  heavens  as  witness  to 
the  effrontery  of  this  American  who  had  dared  to 
offer  a  daughter  of  France  so  paltry  a  coin. 

A  gendarme,  wearing  soiled  red  trousers  and  a 
bored  expression,  sauntered  up  to  them.  By  this 
time  a  ring  of  amused,  partly  contemptuous  onlook- 
ers had  gathered.  John,  now  as  red  as  the  trousers, 
though  more  cleanly,  attempted  to  explain,  by  ges- 
tures, the  facts  of  the  absurd  situation.  The  officer 
nodded,  took  the  franc  between  a  distasteful  thumb 
and  a  crooked  forefinger,  tossed  it  directly  into  the 
woman's  distorted  face,  and  then  gave  a  brief,  per- 
emptory command.  Still  muttering  objurgations  in 
which  the  word  "  Americaine  "  was  most  frequently 
to  be  heard,  the  old  witch  caught  up  the  entire  mass 
of  roses,  which  she  held  with  obvious  unwillingness 
toward  John,  her  small  black  eyes  flashing  fury. 
The  young  man  took  about  a  third,  thanked  the 
policeman,  and  fled  down  the  nearest  side  street. 

"  Whew ! "  he  said  aloud,  as  the  last  excited  voice 
behind  him  faded.  "  That  was  a  hard-won  victory, 
and  the  reward  isn't  much,  after  all." 

He  glanced  down  at  his  doubtful  prize.     In  the 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  75 

dusk  of  the  secluded  street  they  made  scarcely  a  blur 
of  white.  He  lifted  them  tentatively,  half-minded  to 
fling  them  away;  but,  as  if  in  protest,  a  faint,  ex- 
quisite odour  began  to  rise.  He  had  not  noticed 
there  in  the  chestnut  tree  that  the  Strange  Woman 
had  worn  perfume.  In  fact,  he  was  certain  that 
she  was  not  the  sort  of  a  woman  addicted  to  scent 
bottles,  and  yet,  when  she  had  moved, —  especially 
that  time  she  had  leaned  so  close  and  whispered  the 
word  "  mother," —  there  had  been  about  her  a  subtle 
essence  distilled  in  the  same  Persian  garden  where 
these  roses  grew. 

As  he  entered  the  hallway  and  began  the  ascent 
of  his  narrow  stairs,  the  fragrance  mounted  with 
him.  On  reaching  his  room,  he  first  turned  on  every 
light  and  then  stared  about  for  some  vessel  or  utensil 
in  which  his  now-cherished  booty  could  be  placed. 
There  was  nothing  at  all  but  the  washbowl  and 
pitcher.  He  took  the  former,  placed  it  in  the  centre 
of  his  draughting-board,  filled  it  with  water  and  ar- 
ranged, with  care,  each  separate  spray. 

That  night  John's  sleep  was  restless.  He 
dreamed  incessantly  a  series  of  disconnected  hap- 
penings chiefly  concerned  with  gesticulating  crones, 
sneering  gendarmes,  creaking  stairways  and  drifting 
chestnut  florets.  For  the  first  time  in  many  months 
his  last  waking  thoughts  had  been  neither  of  home, 
nor  a  resume  of  the  following  day's  work. 

Next  morning  he  woke  early.  There  was  an  un- 
familiar presence  in  the  room.  Lifting  his  head  he 


76  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

saw  the  roses.     He  sank  back  with  a  smile.     At  least 
he  had  caught  a  feather  from  the  lost  vision's  wing! 

When  Felice  entered  with  the  coffee  she,  too, 
sniffed  the  spicy  air.  At  sight  of  the  washbowl,  a 
gleam  of  Eve's  knowledge  flickered  in  her  eyes,  to 
be  at  once  smothered  under  discreetly  drooping  lids. 
To  her  French  mind  the  pink  roses  had  but  one  pos- 
sible meaning,  and  in  her  overworked  soul  she  was 
glad  for  the  lonely  young  monsieur. 

All  during  the  week  John  worked  as  never  before. 
If,  at  times,  the  straight  lines  of  an  Ionic  column 
threatened  to  waver  into  soft  draperies,  he  only 
laughed,  and  held  his  ruler  in  a  tightened  grasp. 
More  than  once  his  French  instructor  was  surprised 
into  that  potent  word  of  commendation  "  gentile." 
The  other  fellows  may  have  scowled  with  added 
ferocity,  but  John  did  not  see  them.  The  days  went 
by  with  incredible  swiftness. 

During  the  middle  of  the  week  the  thought  came 
to  him  that  he  knew  very  little  of  Paris  as  a  whole. 
A  few  streets  immediately  surrounding  his  lodgings 
and  the  Ecole  formed  his  only  familiar  ground.  It 
was  for  convenience  that  he  had  chosen  the  district 
west  of  the  Seine,  known  as  the  Left  Bank ;  and  while 
the  Bohemian  Latin  Quarter  seldom  saw  him  he  was 
well  aware  that  the  fashionable  dwellers  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river  generally  referred  to  their  own 
district  as  the  "  Right  Bank,"  and  that  in  which  he 
lived  the  "  Wrong." 

Topographically,  at  least,  the  favoured  "  Right " 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  77 

one  could  be  achieved  by  the  mere  passage  on  foot, 
across  the  little  iron  bridge  called  "  Pont  des  Arts." 
Its  farther  end  led  almost  to  the  steps  of  the  Louvre, 
from  which  a  walk  to  the  Jardin  du  Tuileries  and 
the  Champs  Elysee  would  occupy  but  a  few  brisk  mo- 
ments. 

Having  made  this  resolution,  John  left  his  work 
an  hour  early  and  went  to  his  lodgings  where  he 
donned  his  "  Sunday  clothes,"  completing  the  smart 
effect  by  a  cluster  of  tiny  roses  in  his  buttonhole. 
The  perfect  spring  weather  was  in  itself  an  invita- 
tion. The  young  man  swung  along  whistling,  under 
his  breath,  snatches  of  tunes  learned  at  home. 
Strangely  enough,  however,  it  was  not  of  home  that 
he  was  thinking.  In  crossing  the  bridge  he  paused 
to  look  down  from  the  iron  hand-rail  to  the  crowded 
"  excursion  boats  "  which  spring  brings  out  upon 
the  Seine  as  surely  as  it  does  the  green  leaves  upon 
the  trees.  At  the  very  prow  of  a  specially  smart 
and  shining  little  craft  his  eye  caught  the  upper  sur- 
face of  a  pink  parasol.  He  frowned,  and  began  to 
watch  it  as  a  terrier  does  a  rat-hole.  The  day  was 
suspended;  he  would  know  no  peace  until  he  could 
see  just  what  sort  of  a  pleasure-seeker  that  bright 
convex  bubble  hid.  A  sudden  lilt  of  wind,  and  side- 
wise  dip  of  the  parasol  disclosed  an  extremely  solid 
French  "  maman "  gowned  in  yellow.  At  this  he 
drew  a  quick  breath,  as  of  relief,  and  then,  realising 
the  import  of  his  emotions,  coloured  like  a  schoolboy, 
uttered  an  impatient  "  T-s-c-h !  "  and  hurried  on, 


78  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

not  pausing  again  until  the  broad  thoroughfare  of 
the  Champs  Elysees  was  reached. 

Here,  too,  there  were  chestnut  trees,  a  double  row 
of  them  at  each  side,  but  trees  so  meticulously 
clipped,  so  identical  in  height,  shape  and  apparently 
in  the  number  of  stiffly  upheld  racemes  of  flowers, 
that  they  hardly  appeared  to  be  a  living  growth, 
rather  as  a  sort  of  daylight  candelabra  stuck  regu- 
larly into  the  earth. 

In  the  shade  of  one  of  these  pretences,  and  quite 
near  to  the  curb,  he  acquired,  for  the  sum  of  two 
centimes  an  hour,  one  of  the  spidery  iron  chairs. 
The  inevitable  small  table  was  near.  He  ordered  a 
cafe  au  lait,  tipped  everybody  within  reach,  and  then 
settled  himself  to  the  enjoyment  of  watching.  A 
slow-moving,  incessant  stream  of  open  carriages  and 
motor-cars  drove  past  him,  making  for  the  fashion- 
able Bois  de  Boulogne.  Exquisitely  dressed  women 
leaned  back  among  cushions,  their  faces  set  into  white 
and  faintly  smiling  masks,  but  their  eyes  alert. 
Often  with  them  were  children,  charming  children, 
as  composed  and  perfectly  attired  as  their  elders. 
John's  honest  heart  shrank  a  little  to  note  how  many 
of  the  little  girls  were  painted,  and  had  about  their 
childish  eyes  the  dark,  outlining  charcoal  lines  of 
black.  Sometimes  there  would  be  a  man  along,  but 
no  one,  especially  in  Paris,  ever  noticed  the  accom- 
panying man. 

In    spite    of    this    entertainment,    John    returned 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  79 

home  feeling  that  his  venture  had  not  been  altogether 
a  success. 

Again  on  Saturday  afternoon  he  sought  the  arti- 
ficial chestnut  tree  and  the  spidery  seat,  and  again 
returned  unsatisfied.  Sunday  morning  he  dressed 
early.  Felice,  noting  that  the  washbowl  had  been 
kept  refilled  during  the  week  with  fresh  roses,  felt 
that  she  knew  the  reason  of  his  haste.  To  himself 
he  admitted  a  curiosity  to  learn  how  early  those 
French  idiots  really  went  to  Robinson,  in  order  to 
pre-empt  the  trees.  But  before  starting  out  to  solve 
this  perplexing  question,  there  was  a  letter  from  his 
mother  that  must  be  answered. 

He  drew  it  out  from  the  allotted  pigeon-hole,  and 
began  a  third  reading.  It  was  the  usual  gentle, 
desultory  chronicle  of  small  domestic  events,  tran- 
scribed in  the  old-fashioned,  sloping  hand  that  always 
made  him  think  of  thin  grass  bent  all  one  way  in  an 
autumn  wind.  A  bit  of  local  gossip  was  occasionally 
slipped  in.  "  Walter  has  sold  another  factory  site 
down  near  the  river  flats.  I  understand  it  is  for 
making  brooms.  The  last  was  cider  vinegar.  It 
is  a  very  good  thing  for  the  town  to  have  so  many 
factories.  Your  Uncle  Walter  is  becoming  a  very 
successful  man." 

It  was  rarely  that  she  transcribed  unsavoury 
news.  John,  frowning  over  the  next  item,  felt  that 
matters  were  indeed  bad  with  the  Armstrongs,  if 
his  little  mother  had  allowed  herself  to  speak  so 


80  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

freely.  "  Delphi  is  full  of  disturbing  rumours  about 
May  Armstrong  and  her  husband.  Public  opinion 
is  much  divided.  I  have  not  been  willing  to  listen 
to  details,  for  I  wish  to  be  friends  to  both,  and  if 
possible,  be  able  to  do  something  toward  their  recon- 
ciliation. But  Clara  tells  me  that  May  is  on  the 
point  of  starting  to  Reno.  I  trust  that  this  is  a 
mistake.  Divorce  is  a  terrible  thing,  no  matter  what 
the  cause.  A  woman  who  has  taken  a  man  for  bet- 
ter or  worse,  in  God's  sight,  should  cleave  to  him 
through  everything." 

John  sighed  as  he  turned  this  page,  and  wished 
that  the  Strange  Woman  had  told  him  a  little  more. 

On  the  third  page  was  a  statement  which,  a  week 
earlier,  would  have  brought  him  a  thrill  of  excited 
pleasure.  "  Now  I  have  something  to  say  that  will 
really  interest  you.  About  an  hour  ago  young 
Charles  Abbey  rushed  in.  The  lad  is  almost  beside 
himself  with  joy.  His  mother  has  practically  prom- 
ised to  let  him  go  abroad  this  year,  starting  in  July. 
I  do  not  feel  quite  certain  that  she  will  do  so,  and 
neither  does  Charles,  but  at  least  there  is  a  greater 
probability  than  ever  before.  Mrs.  Abbey  is  a 
worthy,  intellectual  woman,  and  I  believe  she  means 
to  be  a  good  mother,  but  I  can't  help  feeling  that 
she  treats  Charles  too  much  like  a  child.  How  can 
she  expect  ever  to  be  as  proud  of  him  as  I  am  of  my 
boy,  if  she  gives  him  no  chance  of  developing  his  own 
character  ?  " 

"  God   bless    that    mother    o'    mine ! "    exclaimed 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  81 

John,  fervently  and  aloud.  "  I  wonder  how  it  hap- 
pens that  she  has  so  much  more  sense  than  all  the 
other  women  in  Delphi !  " 

But  Charlie's  coming!  That  needed  to  be 
thought  over.  Even  if  old  "  tight-wad  " —  for  it 
was  by  this  opprobrious  term  that  John  usually 
thought  of  Mrs.  Abbey  —  finally  decided  to  unloose 
her  purse  and  apron-strings  at  once, —  it  would  not 
be  until  July.  A  few  weeks  still  remained  to  the 
present  month. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  John,  throwing  back  his  head  as 
one  does  when  a  decision  has  been  reached,  "  I  hope 
he  will !  It  will  be  bully  to  see  somebody  right  from 
home.  And,  by,  say,  the  middle  of  July  — " 
Thought  and  speech  were  checked  by  a  single  rein. 
Even  to  himself  he  did  not  wish  to  say,  "  If,  by  the 
middle  of  July  I  have  caught  no  glimpse  of  her,  I 
shall  feel  the  quest  over." 

He  bent  to  his  desk,  and  plunged  into  the  letter. 
The  excursion  of  the  previous  Sunday  was  given  at 
length.  He  described  the  happy  French  groups,  the 
old  trees,  the  wealth  of  snowy  flowers  and  the  quaint 
tree-platforms.  Of  the  Strange  Woman  no  word 
was  written.  When  this  was  finished,  he  dashed  off 
a  bright,  cordial  note  to  Charlie,  urging  him  to 
hurry  over,  and  saying  that  doubtless  lodgings  for 
him  could  be  found  under  the  same  roof. 

His  scribal  duties  over,  he  leaned  for  a  cluster  of 
the  roses  —  this  rite  was  becoming  a  habit  —  and 
started  off  for  Robinson. 


83  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

The  big  tree,  so  eagerly  sought,  was  indeed  un- 
occupied, and  all  day  long,  except  for  his  solitary 
presence,  remained  so.  At  the  luncheon  hour  he  de- 
scended gloomily.  After  the  lonely  meal  he  wan- 
dered about,  and  finally  achieved  the  intention,  so 
brilliantly  frustrated  the  week  before,  of  mounting 
to  the  very  summit  of  the  wooded  hill. 

The  following  week  crawled  by  slowly.  Once 
more  he  went  to  the  Champs  Elysees;  and  this  time 
*'  blew  himself,"  as  he  would  have  said,  for  a  taxi. 
Recklessly  unheeding  the  regular  tick  of  the  taxi- 
metre,  he  drove  to  the  end  of  the  Bois  and  back. 
The  exorbitant  bill  was  paid  without  protest,  and 
the  scowl  accompanying  the  transaction  was  engen- 
dered less  by  outraged  thrift  than  sentient  disap- 
pointment. 

On  the  following  Sunday  —  though  he  had  as- 
sured himself  more  than  once  that  nothing  should 
induce  him  to  take  a  trip  in  the  direction  of  the  now- 
hated  Robinson  —  somehow  he  arrived  there,  again 
at  an  early  hour.  By  this,  self-deception  was 
abandoned.  Grimly  he  faced  the  facts,  and  even 
more  grimly  promised  himself  that,  against  this 
day's  banality  should  be  written,  in  large  letters,  the 
words,  "  Never  again.'*  He  returned  to  his  lodg- 
ings early  and  flinging  himself  upon  the  bed  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  bitter  luxury  of  homesickness 
and  desolation. 

The  third  Sunday  was  ushered  in  with  a  steady 
downpour  of  rain.  While  still  in  bed  John  heard 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  83 

the  patter  against  his  windows  and  the  dismal 
gurgling  in  the  corner  down-spout.  He  told  him- 
self that  he  was  glad.  Of  course  it  was  not  con- 
ceivable that  he  should  have  started  a  third  time  for 
that  wretched,  gnarled,  ear-wiggy  chestnut  tree. 
Nevertheless  he  was  pleased  to  hear  rain. 

He  did  not  leave  his  rooms  until  the  luncheon  hour. 
It  was  hard  work  to  make  his  letter  for  the  day  a 
cheerful  one.  During  the  writing,  however,  he 
thanked  Heaven  several  times  over  that  he  had  not 
mentioned  the  Strange  Woman  to  his  mother. 

A  second  letter  was  written  to  Charlie  and  after 
that  an  urgent  one  to  Charlie's  mother.  By  now 
the  hope  of  the  boy's  coming  seemed  the  one  human 
gleam  in  the  dark  social  firmament  above  him.  Even 
were  it  but  to  be  companionship  at  his  lonely,  de- 
tested meals,  the  thought  was  enough  to  cheer. 

He  glanced  toward  the  clock.  Already  it  was 
after  one.  He  might  as  well  go  out  to  "  feed  "  and 
have  it  over.  He  threw  on  his  tan  raglan,  caught 
up  the  small  waterproof  hat  that  went  with  it,  and 
started  out  with  the  half-formed  determination  of 
"  turning  in  "  at  the  first  opened  door,  whether  of 
wine-shop,  patissierie,  or  cafe.  Eating  was  a  bore 
at  best. 

The  carrying  out  of  this  desultory  programme 
found  him  seated  near  the  door  of  a  very  modest 
restaurant  on  the  Rue  Visconti.  The  rain  now  flung 
itself  down  in  flat  sheets.  He  gained  a  melancholy 
satisfaction  in  watching  the  streaming  umbrellas 


84)  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

pass,  and  noting  the  bent,  protesting  shoulders  of 
the  persons  bearing  them.  In  fancy  he  heard  the 
drip  of  rain  among  broad  chestnut  leaves.  There 
would  be  rivulets,  black  and  tortuous,  coursing 
along  the  rugged  bark,  and  a  mournful  chorus  of 
tree-toads  overhead.  On  the  sodden  platform,  dank 
florets  would  be  crushed  as  by  a  high-heeled  grey 
suede  shoe.  How  foolish  the  old  trees  must  be  feel- 
ing! If  any  one  were  mad  enough  to  visit  them 
to-day,  she  could  be  sure  of  no  intrusion. 

All  at  once  the  rain  ceased.  The  proprietor 
ambled  smilingly  toward  his  one  guest,  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  and,  to  judge  by  the  excited  nods 
he  gave  toward  the  doorway,  congratulating  John 
that  the  unpleasant  weather  was  coming  to  an  end. 
The  young  man  achieved  something  in  the  nature  of 
a  smile,  and  tried  to  look  as  though  he  understood. 
By  the  time  his  bill  was  paid,  and  the  sky  again  over 
him,  he  saw  that  indeed  the  heavy  clouds  were  part- 
ing, and  brilliant  patches  of  blue  showed  here  and 
there.  Instead  of  being  pleased,  John  muttered 
anathemas  against  the  improved  condition.  Well, 
at  any  rate  it  was  now  late  in  the  day  for  Robinson. 
There  would  be  no  driving  in  the  Bois.  He  walked 
on,  with  no  sense  of  direction,  until  he  saw  the  one 
finished  tower  of  St.  Sulpice.  He  was  in  the  little 
Rue  de  Vaugirard,  and  down  a  short  vista  appeared 
the  open  portals  of  some  public  building.  The 
Galerie  du  Luxembourg !  Of  course  it  was  here. 


PORTRAIT  OF  HIS  MOTHER  85 

And  what  an  ideal  afternoon  for  his  first  glimpse  of 
the  "  mother  picture  " ! 

Cheered  by  the  acquisition  of  an  objective,  he  hur- 
ried forward.  He  had  been  vaguely  aware  that  the 
Luxembourg  was  a  small  gallery,  but  in  spite  of  the 
preknowledge,  now  paused  in  something  like  won- 
der at  the  unpretentious,  almost  domestic  appear- 
ance of  its  low-fronted  pile.  The  halls  within  were 
not  as  large  as  those  of  many  residence  chateaux. 

The  corridor  and  its  small,  branching  rooms  held, 
apparently,  nothing  but  sculpture.  In  common  with 
other  arrogant  young  men  of  his  profession  John 
granted  to  this  art  a  right  to  exist  chiefly  as  an  ad- 
dition to,  or  embellishment  of,  architecture.  The 
one  exception  to  this  arbitrary  rule  was  in  the  case 
of  portrait  sculpture.  He  came  to  an  involuntary 
standstill  before  Rodin's  marvellous  personification 
of  Victor  Hugo,  and  conceded,  rather  grudgingly, 
a  thrill  at  sight  of  the  sensuous,  exquisite  "  kiss." 
Deliberately  turning  his  back  on  further  tempta- 
tions, he  strode  into  the  picture  gallery,  moving,  by 
instinct,  toward  that  long,  cool  western  wall  upon 
which  hangs  one  of  Whistler's  supreme  creations. 

At  his  first  sight,  John  felt  a  little  dizzy.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  stretched  a  hand  out  gropingly 
toward  the  cushioned  back  of  a  long,  red  seat,  placed 
there  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  wish  to  brood  and 
ponder  on  this  picture.  He  did  not  sit,  only,  for 
an  instant,  steadied  himself,  and  then  moved  slowly 


86  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

forward.  "  Is  it  not  one  of  the  miracles,"  some- 
thing at  his  elbow  seemd  to  murmur,  "  that  the  hu- 
man, the  immortal  note  should  be  so  sustained,  and 
yet  the  great  creative  impulse  not  be  cooled  or  low- 
ered? " 

The  tone  was  gentle,  friendly,  and  as  casual  as 
though  resuming  a  sentence  just  interrupted. 

John  did  not  dare  to  look.  He  had  been  self- 
tricked  too  often.  Of  course  it  was  exactly  the  kind 
of  thing  she  would  have  said,  granting  for  the  mo- 
ment the  bodily  presence  of  the  not-impossible  she. 

The  voice  came  again,  this  time  in  low  laughter. 
"  Many  have  found  it  overwhelming.  You  are  quite 
pale,  m'sieur!  Will  you  not  come  to  the  bench  until 
your  faintness  passes  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VII 
JOHN    ENTERS    INTO    AN    AGREEMENT 

IT  was  all  true,  then,  and  no  mere  figment  of  an  ex- 
cited imagination.  The  enhanced  perfume,  rising 
to  his  nostrils,  came  neither  from  his  own  small  clus- 
ter nor  from  the  garden  of  his  dreams. 

At  last  he  found  courage  to  turn.  The  long,  grey 
lines  were  moving  from  him  toward  the  couch ;  the 
pointed  chin  above  the  grey  shoulder  beckoned.  He 
followed,  still  walking  like  a  man  in  a  trance. 
Again  he  heard  the  soft,  slightly  mocking  laugh. 
The  sound  pricked  him.  He  squared  his  jaw,  an- 
grily calling  himself  a  fool.  What  was  the  power 
of  this  Strange  Woman  that  the  mere  fact  of  her 
presence  should  rob  him  both  of  manners  and  self- 
control  ? 

She  seated  herself  with  her  usual  slow  ease.  Tak- 
ing his  position  at  a  slightly  ungracious  distance  he 
leaned  forward,  and  deliberately  focussed  his  mind 
and  his  thoughts  upon  the  canvas.  He  found,  much 
to  his  satisfaction,  that  its  power  went  far  toward 
nullifying  the  magnetic  "  pull "  of  his  now  silent 
and  motionless  companion.  His  eyes  fed  hungrily. 
This  was  not  merely  Whistler's  mother,  but  a  com- 
posite, a  magical  transfiguration  of  all  gentle,  de- 

87 


88  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

voted,  home-staying  mothers  of  all  the  world.  The 
picture  might  well  have  been  painted  in  Delphi. 

Now  his  attention,  so  strenuously  set,  began  to 
waver.  He  tried  in  vain  to  hold  it  to  a  focus.  The 
Strange  Woman  had  not  moved  or  spoken ;  he  could 
see  nothing  of  her  but  the  pointed  toe  of  a  grey 
shoe,  yet  he  was  poignantly  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  watching  him.  It  was  a  brief  struggle, 
and  the  human  presence  won.  He  wheeled  about 
with  disconcerting  swiftness,  but  the  steady  eyes  un- 
der the  wide  hat-brim  did  not  falter.  His  own  flick- 
ered once,  and  he  felt  the  blood  surge  into  his  face, 
but  he  forced  himself  into  as  steady  a  returning 
gaze.  There  was  just  visible,  through  her  thick 
lashes,  the  faintly  amused,  ironic  regard  which 
matched  the  tone  of  voice  that  always  stung  him. 
This  was  the  time,  if  ever,  to  prove  himself  a  man. 

"  Since  you  were  kind  enough  to  speak  to  me  just 
now,"  he  began,  choosing  his  words  carefully,  "  I 
hope  I  do  not  presume  too  much  in  thinking  that 
you  are  willing  to  be  friends,  or,  at  least,"  he  added, 
"  to  be  acquaintances." 

Her  eyes  went  to  the  picture.  He  felt  a  small 
thrill  of  elation.  This  was  his  first  triumph.  Al- 
ways, before,  it  had  been  his  eyes  that  turned  away. 

"  You  know  nothing  at  all  of  me,"  she  said  in  an- 
swer. 

"  I  know  enough.  You  are  an  American,  and  you 
are  lonely.  Please  say  that  we  may  be  friends,"  he 
pleaded. 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        89 

Now  she  slowly  faced  him.  Her  lips  had  taken 
on  a  straight  line. 

"  I  am  John  Hemingway.  John  Hemingway,  of 
Delphi,  Iowa,"  he  hurried  on,  as  if  wishing  to  retard 
her  decision.  "  Doesn't  that  combination  make  you 
smile?  " 

She  shook  her  head  slightly.  Her  eyes  were  dark 
and  grave.  "  I  am  Inez  de  Pierrefond,"  the  vibrant 
voice  stated.  "  Several  years  ago  I  left  the  man 
to  whom  I  was  married.  De  Pierrefond  was  my 
maiden  name.  I  am  called  Madame  de  Pierrefond." 

John  held  himself  well  in  hand.  Somehow,  all 
along,  he  had  known  that  she  was  married.  There 
was  something  in  the  wistful,  charming  face  that  did 
not  belong  to  happy  girlhood. 

"  Marriage  is  an  experience  yet  before  me,"  he  re- 
sponded, in  a  pleasant,  commonplace  tone. 

The  steady  eyes  continued  to  search  his  very  soul. 

"  Among  good,  conventional  women,  such  as 
that  " —  she  gave  a  swift  gesture  toward  the  picture 
— "  you  know  well  how  such  a  step  as  mine  is  re- 
garded." 

A  certain  phrase  in  his  mother's  last  letter  shot 
through  the  young  man's  mind.  In  spite  of  it  he 
managed  to  answer,  in  the  same  even  voice,  "  Each 
person  lives  his  own  life." 

"  I  deliberately  left  my  husband.  I  deserted  him," 
she  persisted. 

John  gave  an  impatient  movement  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "What  of  it?  It  surely  is  no  affair  of  mine." 


90  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Then,  as  she  seemed  determined  to  adhere  to  the  som- 
bre topic,  he  added,  "  Doubtless  you  had  excellent 
reasons." 

"  The  world  —  your  world  —  Monsieur  'Eming- 
way,  might  not  so  think." 

"  For  the  present  moment,  at  least,  I  have  no 
world  but  this.  You  and  I  are  its  only  occupants. 
Say  that  we  can  be  friends." 

"  It  is  assured  that  still  you  wish  it  ?  " 

"Still  wish  it!  Of  course.  Why  not!"  he  re- 
monstrated. Then,  seeing  that  the  shadow  did  not 
lift,  he  broke  out,  vehemently.  "  Look  here !  What 
sort  of  a  narrow-minded  cad  do  you  take  me  for, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  You  informed  me, —  of  Delphi,  Iowa,"  she  mur- 
mured, and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap  at  sight  of 
a  tiny,  recalcitrant  dimple. 

"  That's  enough  to  account  for  anything,"  he  ad- 
mitted, with  a  grin.  "  Now  let's  see  if  you  are  any 
better  off.  I'll  dare  you  to  tell  me  the  name  of  your 
home  town." 

"  Oh,  mine,"   she  smiled.     "  Mine  is  not  by  way 
of  being  a  town  at  all.     It  was  a  beeg  plantation  — 
a  sugar  plantation  —  in  southern  Louisiana." 

"  A  pretty  far  cry  from  Delphi,  I  must  allow,"  he 
laughed.  "  It  doesn't  sound  like  America  at  all." 

"  It  is  not  America.  It  is  the  South,"  she  an- 
swered, composedly. 

"  Oh,  come  now.  There's  no  North  or  South  any 
longer.  We're  just  one  big  country." 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        91 

"  Yet  it  was  you  who  just  said,  it  had  not  the 
sound  of  America."  At  his  discomfiture  she  laughed, 
a  little  shaking,  gurgling  laugh,  like  that  of  a  child. 

John  looked  like  a  sheepish  schoolboy.  "  You 
score  one,"  he  grimaced.  "  As  you  are  strong,  be 
merciful,  and  tell  me  more  about  it.  Was  yours,  like 
mine,  a  happy  childhood?  " 

"  Yes, —  it  was  most  happee,"  she  answered,  slowly. 
"  But  it  is  very  far  away." 

The  brooding  look  stole  back.  John  felt  that  he 
could  not  endure  another  lapse  into  gloom.  He  cast 
about,  desperately,  for  some  new,  inocuous  train  of 
thought. 

"  You  mus  not  forget,"  the  low  voice  beside  him 
now  reiterated,  "  that  I  left  my  husband  voluntarily." 

He  had  been  too  slow  for  her.  "  Oh,  hang 
your  — "  he  burst  forth ;  then  checking  himself,  stam- 
mered, "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  meant  to  say,  never 
mind  him.  You  are  free  now." 

"  There  was  never  a  divorce."  The  crisp  words 
came  like  hail  from  a  summer  sky. 

John  scowled  into  space.  His  eyes  fell  on  the 
portrait  which,  for  a  few  moments,  had  been  forgot- 
ten. Not  realising  just  why  he  did  so,  he  stood  up. 
The  long,  grey  figure  rose  beside  him. 

"  Ah !  It  is  not  well  for  the  good  maman  to  hear 
the  uglee  word  —  divorce,"  she  deprecated,  mock- 
ingly. With  a  little  shrug  she  swept  past  and  be- 
fore him,  making  for  the  exit. 

John  strode  in  pursuit.     He  laid  a  detaining  hand 


92  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

upon  her  arm.  She  wheeled,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  Monsieur !  "  she  exclaimed,  giving  a  look  downward 
to  the  offending  hand. 

But  John  had  a  temper  of  his  own. 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond,"  he  said  sternly,  "  we 
are  going  to  have  this  out  here  and  now.  I  asked 
for  your  friendship ;  but  I  don't  want  it  at  the  price 
of  my  self-respect." 

"  No?  "  she  derided,  as  if  in  utter  astonishment. 

"  You  intrigue  me,  monsieur !  And  what,  if  it  is 
safe  to  ask,  do  you  consider  the  necessaree  precau- 
tions for  your  self-respect?  " 

He  did  not  answer  for  some  moments  but,  instead, 
drew  back,  looking  down  steadily  upon  her. 

To-day  the  grey  draperies  were  subtinted  and  shot 
through  with  silvery  pink.  At  her  belt  she  wore  a 
cluster  of  pink  roses  that  might  have  grown  on  the 
same  vine  with  those  in  the  buttonhole  of  the  man 
who  now  so  sternly  regarded  her.  She  was  more 
charming,  more  graceful  and  more  exasperating  than 
all  his  memories. 

In  spite  of  her  icy  composure,  the  strain  began  to 
tell. 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  she  taunted,  "  having  fully  ap- 
praised me — "  An  outflung  hand  completed  the 
sentence. 

"  For  one  thing,"  he  stated,  "  I  don't  care  to  be 
called  monsieur." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  — "  she  murmured,  with  super- 
cilious brows. 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        93 

An  impatient  exclamation  broke  from  her  compan- 
ion. 

"  For  another,"  he  continued,  "  you  are  not  to  use 
that  tone  of  voice." 

"  It  is  my  only  voice,  n'est-ce  pas?  " 

"  But  not  your  only  tone.  Of  those  you  have  sev- 
eral hundred  thousand." 

"  Merci  bien!  You  overwhelm  me,"  she  inter- 
posed, the  essence  of  provocation  in  her  face.  All  at 
once  she  drew  her  slender  shoulders  together  and 
began  to  laugh. 

"  I'm  not  specially  keen  on  being  laughed  at, 
either,"  blurted  John. 

She  assumed  the  pretence  of  disappointment. 
"  So  many  restrictions  ?  I  fear,  monsieur  —  par- 
don —  Mees-ter  'Emingway, —  there  are  too  much  of 
them  for  —  er  —  friendship." 

"  That's  up  to  you,  of  course.  May  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  putting  you  into  a  taxi?  " 

"  Merci,"  she  shrugged. 

They  walked  together  through  the  halls.  Pic- 
tures and  sculpture  were  alike  ignored.  John, 
frowning  more  heavily  than  ever,  looked  straight  be- 
fore him.  As  they  reached  the  exit,  Madame  de 
Pierrefond  spoke,  making,  in  a  casual  tone,  the  brief, 
astonishing  statement,  "  My  husband  is  dead." 

There  was  nothing  for  John  to  reply.  He  tried 
to  assure  himself  that,  for  him,  the  unsolicited  fact 
held  no  interest. 

They  emerged  into  a  glory  of  sunshine.     The  stiff 


94  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

little  rose-trees  leading  up  to  the  Luxembourg  steps 
were  each  a  compact  sphere  of  colour.  On  the  first 
terrace,  Madame  de  Pierrefond  came  to  a  standstill. 
John,  perforce,  paused  with  her.  Half  unwillingly 
he  turned  to  meet  her  upraised  eyes.  They  were 
smiling,  but  in  a  way  he  had  not  seen  before.  All 
mockery  was  gone.  "  I  like  you,  Jean  'Emingway," 
she  said,  holding  forth  a  hand.  "  Shall  we  now  walk 
in  the  small  Renaissance  garden?  " 

John  hesitated.  "  Do  you  mean  by  this,"  he  stip- 
ulated, "  that  you  are  willing  to  accept  my  terms?  " 

She  gave  a  spirited  little  toss  of  the  head.  "  Still 
guarding  that  threatened  self-respect  ?  " 

"  I  merely  want  to  be  treated  like  a  human  being 
and  not  a  clown." 

"  It  shall  be  so.  I  promise.  Here  is  my  hand 
upon  it.  I  capitulate,  and  wave  de  w'ite  flag." 
Here  she  lifted  a  scrap  of  embroidered  linen.  "  Now 
I  am  friends  wid  you,  and  on  your  own  terms." 

"  You  can't  possibly  realise  what  it  means  to  me," 
said  John,  earnestly.  "  And  only  just  now  I 
thought  I  had  lost  you." 

"  Only  just  now  you  have  found  me,  John  'Em- 
ingway," she  corrected,  rather  gravely. 

"  After  all,"  he  vindicated,  leaning  toward  her  as 
they  strolled  into  the  complicated  garden  walks,  "  I 
wasn't  demanding  anything  unreasonable  —  only 
sincerity,  and  square  dealing." 

"  It  is  the  best,"  she  stated,  soberly.  Then,  with 
.a  flash  of  the  mischievous  smile,  "  Was  it  not  my 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        95 

outspokenness,  that  first  day  at  Robinson,  that 
shocked  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  —  a  little,"  he  admitted  frankly.  "  You 
see,  I  had  never  met  a  woman  like  you  before.  I 
was  knocked  off  my  pins.  When  I  got  home  and  be- 
gan to  think  it  all  over,  I  saw  that  you  were  right. 
I  admired  your  honesty." 

"  To  be  honest  —  to  make  no  pretence  or  disguise 
of  facts.  That,  too,  is  my  idea  of  friendship.  And 
because  of  that  belief,  I  possess  few  friends." 

"  Well,  you  possess  me,  now  and  forever, —  if  that 
means  anything,"  cried  John. 

"  Even  though  you  are  to  have  more  shocks  ?  "  she 
queried,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"  Oh,  I'm  beginning  to  like  shocks.  It's  only  ridi- 
cule that  gets  me." 

"  That  you  shall  not  hear  again,"  she  pledged  him, 
softly. 

Their  conversation,  for  the  first  hour,  was  little 
more  than  a  series  of  questions  and  answers,  dealing 
almost  entirely  with  the  childhood  of  each.  The 
Luxembourg  gardens  filled  quickly,  now  that  the  rain 
had  stopped,  and  it  was  at  Madame  de  Pierrefond's 
suggestion  that  they  strolled  toward  the  Boulevard 
de  St.  Germain,  in  search  of  afternoon  tea. 

What  she  termed  "  the  black  spots  "  of  her  life 
were  touched  upon  with  smiling  lightness.  "  Some 
day  I  shall  tell  you  more,"  she  said.  "  But  not  in 
this  first  hour  of  friendship."  She  seemed  to  caress 
the  idea  of  a  new,  real  friendship  as  a  child  does  a 


96  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

new  toy,  long  desired.  The  play  of  her  fancies  was 
like  silver  gauze.  John  feasted  eyes  and  ears  upon 
her.  At  times  her  beautiful  voice  which,  as  he  had 
stated,  held  a  thousand  modulations  where  most 
women  had  but  one,  cast  over  him  a  sort  of  hypnotic 
spell,  so  that  he  found  himself  dreaming  to  music, 
rather  than  listening  to  spoken  words. 

Once  when  she  chaffed  him  because  of  inattention 
he  flushed,  and  looking  squarely  at  her  with  brown, 
honest  eyes,  defended  himself  by  saying,  simply, 
"  Your  voice  is  so  exquisite  that  sometimes  I  can't 
hear  you  just  for  the  pleasure  of  listening." 

"  It  must  be  that  you  have  not  known  other  South- 
ern women,"  she  mused.  "  We  all  have  voices  much 
alike." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  he  answered.  "  The  only  girls 
I've  known  at  all  were  Western  ones.  But  honest, 
now,  do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  any  girl,  just 
because  she  happened  to  be  born  south  of  the  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line  is  bound  to  have  honey  and  flowers 
and  harp-strings  all  mixed  up  in  her  voice?  " 

Her  cheeks  slowly  grew  a  deeper  pink.  "  Since  we 
are  to  speak  only  the  truth,"  she  replied,  in  obvious 
embarrassment,  "  perhaps  not  every  girl.  You  see, 
I  am  partly  Creole.  Oh,  this  is  no  shock ! "  she 
laughed  merrily,  noting  his  somewhat  startled  glance. 
"  The  real  meaning  of  Creole,  as  we  use  it,  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  negro  blood.  It  is  a  term  of  pride, 
meaning  descent  from  noble  French  and  Spanish 
blood.  My  mother's  family  kept  their  strain  pure 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        97 

—  that  is,"  she  corrected,  with  a  frown,  "  if  any- 
thing essentially  degenerate  should  be  called  pure. 
Unmeexed  is   a  better  word.      She  was  very  proud 
that  she  kept  her  noble  blood  unmeexed  —  until  she 
broke  tradition  by  marrying  my  father." 

"  He  was  American?  "  John  flung  out  eagerly. 

"  All  —  all  American,  as  I  am  —  in  spite  of  his 
French  name.  My  mother's  people  thought  it  the 
mesalliance." 

The  scorn  with  which  she  uttered  this  last  word 
gave  John  his  cue. 

"  Then  you  must  be  more  like  your  father." 

"  Oh,  I  'ope  so, —  I  'ope  so,"  she  cried,  becoming 
more  Continental  in  her  excitement.  "  That  dear 
farzer, —  he  was  my  entire  idol.  I  loved  him  greatly. 
I  was  fourteen  when  he  dies.  I  mees  him  to  the  now 

—  every  minute.     Had  rny  farzer  not  died, —  all  the 
bad  sings  — " 

She  caught  herself  together,  looking  up  at  him 
with  an  apologetic  little  laugh.  "  You  must  pardon 
me  if  I  speak  with  such  feeling.  It  has  been  a  long 
time  since  I  could  mention  my  father's  name." 

"  I  feel  honoured  that  you  can  to  me,"  said  John, 
with  deep  earnestness.  "  But  you  were  telling  how 
your  voice  came  to  be  — " 

She  caught  back  a  little  sob,  touched  her  eyes  with 
the  handkerchief  and,  in  one  of  her  swift,  bewilder- 
ing transitions,  turned  a  sparkling  face. 

"  Ohe  —  yess  —  the  voice !  It  was  of  honey,  you 
said,  and  flowers,  and  the  strings  of  a  banjo — " 


98  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

**  Harp,  not  banjo !  "  he  corrected  indignantly. 

"  Yes  — 'arp,"  she  amended,  with  contrition. 
"  Well,  it  was  like  —  so."  The  small  clasped  hands 
went  down  into  her  lap  as  if  to  emphasise  her  state- 
ments. "  My  mother,  being  an  aristocrat,  cared 
much  for  a  low-toned  voice  and  a  clear  enunciation. 
I  was  trained  that  way  from  babyhood.  Also,  as  a 
child,  I  must  speak  Eenglish  only  to  my  father.  Al- 
ways to  la  mere  and  les  domestiques, —  it  was  French. 
Domestiques  mean  servants,"  she  explained,  de- 
murely. 

"  Even  I  know  that  much,"  laughed  John. 

"  Besides  this,  there  was,  for  another  reason  — " 

"  Now  don't  hand  out  one  of  those  shortstops  of 
yours,"  urged  John.  "  You  always  do  it  at  the  most 
interesting  point.  For  another  reason  — " 

"  Each  summer  of  my  life,  as  far  back  as  I  can 
remember,  my  mother  and  I,  with  several  servants, 
came  abroad,  living  in  the  old  family  chateau  not  far 
from  here, —  and  in  Paris  I  was  given  good  masters 
in  singing.  I  still  can  sing, —  a  little." 

"  I  wish  I  could  hear  you,"  the  young  man  cried, 
impulsively. 

"  Mais  out.  And  why  not, —  since  we  are 
friends  ?  " 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  let  me  call  on  you?  " 

"  Certainment, —  if  you  wish." 

"When?" 

She  threw  her  head  back,  laughing.  John  could 
not  help  thinking  that  even  the  magic  of  Rodin  had 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT        99 

never  evolved  anything  so  white  and  graceful  as  her 
slender  throat. 

"  When  do  you  wish,  Jean  'Emingway  ?  " 

"  To-night.  This  very  night,"  he  asserted, 
boldly. 

At  this  she  drew  back  a  little.  "  Since  you  are  to 
be  in  Paris  free  years  more,  and  I  —  helas  —  ap- 
parently forever,"  she  said,  "  why  this  need  for  so 
great  haste?  " 

"  I  suppose  there  isn't  any, —  really.  But  you 
asked  me  when  I  wanted  to  come,  and  I  told  you. 
We  have  agreed  always  to  speak  the  truth,  haven't 
we?" 

"  Yess,"  she  smiled.  "  And  you  need  not  excuse. 
I  like  the  verve  —  the  —  what  do  you  say  ?  —  the 
impetuousness ;  but  I  mistrust  it,  just  a  little.  On 
Wednesday  evening  you  shall  come, —  that  is,"  she 
added,  graciously,  "  if  by  chance  you  are  free." 

"  Free !  I'm  never  anything  else.  '  Me  this  un- 
chartered  freedom  tires !'  "  he  quoted,  gaily. 

"  Ah,  Wordsworth.  My  best-loved  of  all  poets," 
she  murmured,  with  a  glance  of  such  sweet  commen- 
dation that  the  young  man's  heart  quivered.  "  On 
Wednesday  it  is  to  be,  then.  I  shall  be  glad  to  wel- 
come you,  Jean  'Emingway." 

"  I'll  show  up  on  the  stroke,  even  if  I  have  to  be 
carried  on  a  stretcher,"  declared  John. 

She  looked  puzzled.  "  Stretch  —  aire  —  stretch- 
aire — "  she  echoed.  "It  is  new  American  slang?" 

"  No,  only  personal  exaggeration.     A  stretcher  is 


100  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

a  sort  of  canvas  and  pole  bed  on  which  they  carry 
wounded  men  from  a  battle-field." 

"  How  very  ungallant,"  she  teased.  "  Am  /  a 
battle-field?" 

"  Perhaps.  Who  knows  ?  "  he  began,  but  at  her 
sudden  change  into  gravity,  hurried  on.  "  No,  I 
didn't  mean  that.  It  was  banal.  You  are  Ponce  de 
Leon's  spring, —  the  original  Elysian  field  — " 

She  checked  him  by  a  gesture.  "  You  do  not  know 
everything  about  me.  I  have  spared  you  the  '  black 
spots.'  But  some  day,  if  we  are  to  be  sincerely 
friends,  you  must  hear  them  too." 

"  I  don't  need  to  hear  them,"  protested  John.  "  I 
know  you  well  enough  now  to  feel  that  your  friend- 
ship is  to  be  the  greatest  pleasure  that  I  can  have, — 
something  that  I  shall  prize  second  only  to  my 
mother's  love." 

Suddenly  she  rose.  "  You  have  paid  our  small 
V addition, —  yes?  Then  I  must  now  return.  You 
are  to  have  the  pleasure  at  last  " —  there  was  a  mis- 
chievous emphasis  on  the  word  "  pleasure  " — "  of 
putting  your  friend  into  a  taxi." 

"But  hold  on!"  curbed  John.  "You  haven't 
given  me  your  address  yet." 

"  Ah,  I  am  the  stupid !  "  she  apologised.  "  Take 
out  the  pencil.  You  can  write  it  on  the  edge  of  this 
menu  card." 

"  As  if  I  should  need  to  write  it,"  he  reproached. 

"  As  you  will,"  she  shrugged,  her  eyes  beginning 
to  dance.  "  Here  then,  Meester  'Emingway." 


ENTERS  INTO  AN  AGREEMENT      101 

Speaking  with  incredible  rapidity  she  flung  out,  in 
French,  "  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  nombre  cent-cm- 
quant-cinq  Rue  de  Beau-Rayonelle,  au  coin  nord- 
ouest  de  la  Concord  de  la  Pleu,  au  rvcage  droit  de 
Seine,  Paris,  France" 

Long  before  the  last  liquid  syllable  died,  John's 
hands  were  in  the  air.  He  staggered  as  one  sud- 
denly overcome  by  heat.  "  Help !  Help !  "  he  be- 
sought, in  a  quavering  voice.  "  That  has  fixed  me ! 
Please  write  it  down.  No,  print  it,  so  that  the  cab- 
driver  may  read." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL 

IT  was  a  private  house  at  which  the  taxi-cab  halted 
that  memorable  night.  "  Wonder  if  it  all  belongs 
to  her?  "  John  muttered,  glancing  up  the  four  stories 
of  the  grey  stone  fa9ade.  In  each  window  was  a  box 
of  growing  flowers.  Even  by  the  artificial  street- 
lights the  place  had  a  look  which  set  it  apart. 
Somehow  it  all  should  belong  to  her.  Those  flowers 
ought  not  to  trail  so  joyously  for  a  mistress  less 
charming.  But,  if  so,  it  meant  that  his  new  friend 
was  a  woman  of  wealth,  and  this  fact  was  not  re- 
assuring. 

John  frowned  in  a  puzzled  way,  and  hesitated  be- 
fore lifting  his  hand  to  the  shining  knocker.  If  she 
was,  as  it  now  seemed,  a  rich  and  fashionable  woman, 
why  had  she  not  driven  with  the  others  in  the  Bois? 
And  would  such  a  person  condescend  to  seek  out 
little  Robinson  by  way  of  a  public  conveyance? 
When  she  had  left  him  that  first  time  she  had  moved, 
on  foot,  in  the  direction  of  Sceaux.  No  motor-car 
or  carriage  had  been  waiting. 

"  Well,"  said  John  to  himself,  with  a  little  sigh, 
"  I  am  soon  to  find  out."  He  raised  the  knocker, 

and  almost  on  the  instant  the  door  opened.     A  foot- 

102 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  103 

man  in  grey  livery  inclined  his  stiff  neck  for  about 
two  inches,  and  then  stepped  back  for  the  guest  to 
enter.  John,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  presented 
a  card,  at  which  the  servant,  not  deigning  a  glance 
toward  it,  bowed  once  more  and  rattled  off  something 
in  French. 

John  still  remained  on  one  spot,  feeling  uncom- 
fortable and  a  little  ridiculous. 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond,"  he  repeated,  giving  the 
name  an  emphatic  upward  slant. 

"  Oui,  monsieur.  Madame  —  she  —  ah  —  at  the 
upstaire."  He  gave  a  stiff  motion  with  one  hand. 

Seeing  that  the  American  still  refused  to  stir,  the 
footman  allowed  scorn  and  disgust  to  spread,  in  a 
thin  yellow  grease,  across  his  wooden  features. 
Catching  his  padded  grey  shoulders  together,  he  held 
his  head  in  an  attitude  as  far  removed  as  possible 
from  the  human,  and  began  a  jerky  ascent.  John 
followed  meekly. 

At  home,  in  Delphi,  all  "  parlours  "  were  on  the 
first  floor,  and  as  near  to  the  entrance  as  architec- 
ture could  make  them.  It  was  a  new  and  disconcert- 
ing experience  thus  to  be  ushered,  on  a  first  visit, 
toward  the  presumably  private  regions  of  a  lady's 
"  upstairs."  At  the  entrance  of  what  appeared  a 
long  series  of  softly  lighted  rooms  his  guide  halted 
and  again  gave  two  steps  backward.  The  long  grey 
legs  had  precisely  the  motion  of  a  pair  of  scissor- 
blades. 

Looking  within,  John  caught  the  effect  of  mist- 


104  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

grey  hangings,  wide  floor-spaces  carpeted  with  cool 
grey,  and  many  notes  of  a  delicate  rose  colour,  given, 
as  he  afterward  perceived,  by  vases,  and  jardineres 
of  growing  flowers.  Besides  the  prevailing  tints  of 
rose,  grey  and  silver  which,  left  to  themselves  would 
have  been  a  trifle  commonplace,  there  was  a  fourth, 
one  so  unusual  that  only  an  artist  could  have  dared 
it.  This  was  green,  a  peculiar,  living,  joyous  green, 
something  like  that  of  lily-of-the-valley  foliage  grown 
swiftly  under  glass.  It  peered  at  the  edges  of 
straight-hanging  grey  curtains,  gleamed  from  a  cabi- 
net of  cloisonne  ware,  and  was  concentrated  in  a 
great  square  of  Chinese  brocade,  flung  across  the 
back  of  a  settle. 

All  this  John  saw  in  a  first  hurried  look.  Then 
externals  vanished,  for  he  perceived  a  rose-coloured 
figure  hastening  toward  him,  and  heard  a  low  fa- 
miliar voice  which  said,  "  Welcome,  Jean  'Eming- 
way." 

She  took  his  right  hand  in  both  her  own.  Her 
upturned  smile  was  not  merely  that  of  a  friend,  for 
now  she  was  hostess,  making  him  feel  that  she  was 
glad  of  his  presence. 

He  answered  in  some  commonplace. 

"  Where  is  your  chapeau, —  your  'at  ?  "  she  ques- 
tioned, glancing  around  at  his  other  hand.  "  It  is 
down-the-stairs ?  Yes?  That  is  good.  You  can 
return  now,  Fra^ois  " —  this  to  the  wooden  foot- 
man. "  Now  you  will  come  this  way  with  me,  Jean 
'Emingway." 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  105 

Releasing  him,  she  moved  toward  the  windows 
overlooking  the  street. 

"  There  are  some  few  friends  who  wait,  just  long 
enough  to  meet  you,"  she  smiled,  waving  a  hand,  as 
she  spoke  toward  a  little  group.  John,  in  his  delight 
at  seeing  her,  had  not  noticed  that  others  were  pres- 
ent. There  were  two  men,  almost  foppishly  attired, 
who  stood  in  smiling  expectancy,  and  a  sumptuously 
gowned  woman,  lounging  back  in  a  chair,  who 
watched  the  approach  through  half-shut  lids.  A 
cloud  of  cigarette  smoke  enveloped  her. 

"  Madame  la  Princess  de  Brieux,"  stated  the  host- 
ess easily.  Then  more  directly  to  the  lady,  "  May 
I  have  the  honour  to  present  my  veree  good  friend, 
Meester  'Emingway?"  The  Princess  nodded,  and 
turned  her  face  away  to  flick  off  an  ash. 

Inez  laughed  softly.  "  Monsieur  le  Prince,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  Monsieur  Carant-Dozie.  These  are 
both  very  great  names  in  France,  Monsieur  'Eming- 
way." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  honest  John, 
shaking  hands  in  the  American  fashion. 

Again  Madame  de  Pierrefond  gave  the  little  laugh, 
but  John  felt,  by  instinct,  that  it  was  not  at  his  ex- 
pense. 

Madame  la  Princess,  having  freed  her  cigarette 
from  its  encumbrance,  looked  vaguely  toward  the 
newcomer  and  made  a  vivacious  remark. 

"  No  French,"  cried  Inez.  "  I  warned  you  of  it, 
Clotilde.  Meester  'Emingway  scorns  our  language." 


106  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Look  here,"  cried  John,  laughing  off  his  embar- 
rassment. "  That's  not  fair.  I  don't  scorn  it  in 
the  least.  I  envy  it.  But  it's  simply  too  much  for 
my  tongue." 

"  'Ow  triste,"  sympathised  the  Princess,  thinking 
it  was  pure  English  that  she  spoke.  "  But,  nevaire 
min'.  It  is  to  be  no  good,  even  if  you  do  spik 
Frainch,  m'sieur.  For  dat  bad  Inez  " —  here  she 
shook  her  cigarette  toward  the  hostess  — "  she  in- 
form us  we  *  geet  out '  w'en  Le  Americaine  arrive. 
Now  we  geet  out." 

She  rose,  dragging  after  her  an  incredible  accre- 
tion of  flimsy  draperies.  "  Come,  Arture, —  come, 
M'sieur  Carant-Dozie.  You,  aussi,  mus'  to  geet 
out." 

"  Please  don't  let  me  run  you  off,"  exclaimed  John. 

"  'Ip-pocrite !  "  rejoined  the  Princess.  "You  are 
glad  to  see  the  back  of  us,  n'est-ce  pas?  " 

Inez  was  gliding  toward  the  nearest  electric  bell. 
One  of  the  Frenchmen  reached  it  first.  When  it  had 
been  pressed,  he  leaned  toward  his  hostess,  talking 
rapidly. 

The  grey-legged  footman  appeared.  "  The  car- 
riage of  Madame  la  Princess,"  Inez  ordered. 

As  the  three  guests  went  down  the  stairway,  all 
chatting,  and  flinging  backward  various  light  re- 
marks, meant  for  ears  left  behind,  John  faced  his 
hostess  solemnly. 

"  I  thought  you  said  that  you  were  lonely,"  he 
challenged. 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  107 

Inez  waited  until  she  heard  the  front  door  close. 

"  I  am  lonely." 

"  And  that  you  had  few  friends." 

"  I  'ave  few  friends." 

"  But  these  people,"  he  persisted,  as  if  their  pres- 
ence had  been  a  personal  affront,  "  kings  and  dukes 
and  princesses  and  things.  You  even  called  her  by 
her  given  name." 

"  That  comes  easily  in  France,"  the  other 
shrugged. 

"  Do  you  mean  that,  in  spite  of  your  apparent  in- 
timacy, these  people  mean  nothing  to  you?  " 

"  Less  than  a  chestnut  blossom  fallen  from  the  old 
tree  at  Robinson." 

John  gave  her  a  searching  glance. 

As  if  fearing  that  she  had  flung  out  a  tentacle 
that  might  lead  too  far,  she  caught  herself  together 
and  amended,  in  an  apologetic  tone,  "  It  is  ungrate- 
ful for  me  to  speak  in  such  way.  Of  course  I  am 
fond  of  them,  especially  Clotilde.  I  do  not  think 
her  veree  happy.  Her  'usband  he  has  no  sense, — 
none  at  all." 

"  How  about  that  other  chap, —  the  one  with  the 
spliced  name  ?  " 

Madame  de  Pierrefond  could  only  guess  at  the 
meaning  of  the  term  "  spliced."  "  Oh,  Monsieur 
Carant-Dozie^  He  is  a  great  man.  I  should  be 
honoured  that  he  cares  to  come  to  me." 

"  And  are  you  ?  " 

At  this  question,  and  the  serious,  almost  belliger- 


108  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ent  voice  in  which  it  was  uttered,  Inez'  laughter  could 
not  be  restrained. 

"  Of  course  you  are  thinking  me  a  boor,"  said 
John,  flushing  darkly.  "  Please  forgive  me  if  I  have 
been  rude." 

"  Now,  Jean  'Emingway,"  she  chided  merrily. 
"  You  must  not  look  like  dat !  You  have  not  been 
rude.  It  is  our  compact  that  we  speak  right  out 
what  we  wish.  Is  it  not  our  compact?  "  she  insisted, 
seeing  that  his  face  refused  to  lighten. 

"  Ye-e-es,"  he  answered,  doubtfully. 

"  Not  — '  ye-e-e-e-es,'  "  she  mimicked,  though  her 
eyes  were  full  of  kindness.  "But  yes!  yes!  yes! 
Out, —  certainment  —  to  be  sure !  You  are  to  ask 
any  question  zat  you  will,  and  say  anything  zat  you 
will,  only  " —  here  she  paused,  and  leaned  her  be- 
witching face  closer, — "  you  must  not  look  like  the 
thunder-storm  if  sometimes  I  laugh." 

"  All  right  then !  "  cried  John,  his  dark  expression 
flashing  into  one  of  boyish  relief.  "  I  am  to  say 
anything  I  please,  if  only  I  don't  get  sore  when  you 
laugh  at  me." 

She  nodded  brightly. 

"  Then  tell  me  why  you  consider  that  Carant  man 
great  ?  " 

Inez  bit  her  lips  for  control. 

"  Oh,  go  ahead  and  laugh,  I  don't  mind.  But  when 
you  are  through,  please  answer  me." 

"  I  think  him  great  because  he  is  great,"  was  her 
maddening  reply. 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  109 

•'What  does  he  do?  " 

"  For  one  thing, —  writes  great  books." 

"  Novels,  I'll  be  bound.  I  can  see  the  yellow  cov- 
ers now." 

"  Then,  my  friend,  you  must  better  go  at  once  to 
the  eye-doctor.  He  writes  philosophee." 

For  an  instant  John  was  staggered.  Then  a 
new  gleam  was  vouchsafed.  "  I'll  bet  he  is  a  social- 
ist!" 

"  Pairehaps  you  would  call  him  that.  He  is  a 
thinker, —  an  idealist, —  an  individ-u-a-leest  — 
Oh,"  she  broke  off,  with  an  impatient  twist  of  her  en- 
tire flexible  body,  "  I  cannot  say  so  many  'ard  words 
all  to  once.  It  makes  my  t'roat  hurt."  She  clasped 
both  hands  about  her  slender  neck,  and  looked  ap- 
pealingly  at  John. 

"Don't  you  ever  speak  English?"  demanded  the 
young  man. 

"  Until  you  climbed  into  my  tree, —  not  for  years 
and  years." 

John  grinned.  "  Perhaps  you  are  sorry  that  I 
climbed?" 

"  That  I  will  announce  later,"  she  murmured,  with 
a  tantalising  droop  of  the  long  lashes. 

John  stared  at  her  in  silence.  Feeling  rather  than 
seeing  his  steady  scrutiny,  a  faint,  slow  flush  began 
to  creep  into  her  cheeks.  She  gave  a  little  hyster- 
ical, inward  giggle.  She  was  actually  beginning  to 
feel  embarrassed,  a  sensation  so  novel  that  it  had  its 
charm.  She  raised  her  eyes  suddenly,  thinking  to 


110  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

disconcert  him.  A  child  of  four  could  not  have 
failed  more  utterly  in  producing  the  effect  she  had 
desired.  There  was  still  one  weapon, —  mockery. 
"What!  No  more  questions?  Not  even  about 
Monsieur  Carant-Dozie?  "  she  cried. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  a  socialist  ?  " 

"  For  one  thing,  he  is  my  teacher.  He  lectures  at 
the  Sorbonne.  It  is  a  —  what  do  you  call  it  —  a 
course  I  am  taking?  " 

"  You  actually  go  to  hear  that  —  that  — " 
Words  failed  him. 

"  Tree  times  a  week  I  go.  Tree  times,  rain  or 
shine."  Again  silence  threatened.  Inez  felt  a  thrill 
of  nervous  apprehension.  "  He  is  a  veree  great 
man,"  she  reiterated,  with  emphasis.  "  He  is  a  leader 
of  thought.  All  persons  are  reading  his  books." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  downright  John. 

"  But  you  will." 

"  I  will  not." 

"  Fie,"  laughed  Inez,  feeling  on  safe  ground  once 
more.  "  Such  a  silly  little  schoolboy.  Of  course 
you  mus'  read.  Did  you  not  come  into  the  great 
world  to  learn  and  to  test  many  things?  How  will 
you  discriminate  if  you  don't  know  all?  " 

John  gave  a  start.  How  exactly  these  words  re- 
lated to  what  his  mother  had  said. 

"What  is  it?"  his  companion  asked,  quickly. 
"  Another  thought  took  you  then.  I  could  see 
it." 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  he  answered,  passing  his 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  111 

hand  across  his  forehead.  "  Only  I  believe  you  are 
right  about  my  getting  into  touch  with  other  points 
of  view." 

"  Ahe, —  that  is  good !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  genuine 
pleasure.  "  I  will  lend  you  a  book  this  very  night. 
But  now  there  is  something  that  I  wish  to  show  you." 

She  rose  in  her  swift,  noiseless  way. 

"  Come !  "  she  said,  looking  back  over  her  shoulder. 

Wondering  what  new  revelation  was  to  be  given, 
he  followed  her  down  the  long  double  salon,  to  the 
threshold  of  a  curtained  door,  dark  within.  A 
strong  and  unusual  perfume,  coming  apparently  from 
growing  plants,  streamed  out  toward  them. 

His  hostess  snapped  on  a  whole  switchboard  of 
tungsten  lights,  and  together  they  faced  a  living 
bower  of  verdure.  The  flooring  was  of  a  dull  yellow 
stone.  Palms,  thick  stemmed  as  organ  pipes,  rose  all 
about  them.  Overhead,  against  the  night,  arched 
twisted  vines,  set  starrily  with  jessamines  and  great 
primrose-coloured  blooms  that  John  had  never  seen 
before.  Behind  the  palms  was  a  bank  of  tall  olean- 
ders bending  toward  them  under  masses  of  pink  flow- 
ers. This  was  the  perfume  he  had  noted.  How  it 
recalled  the  one  oleander  which,  through  so  many 
years,  his  mother  had  cherished.  From  boyhood  it 
had  been  his  special  duty  to  move  the  green  tub  con- 
taining it,  from  the  front  "  porch  "  to  the  warm 
night-shelter  of  the  living-room.  He  closed  his  eyes, 
feeling  himself  in  a  strange  dream  of  home.  If  Inez 
noticed,  this  time  she  made  no  comment. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

His  foot  struck  against  a  bamboo  chair.  There 
were  several  about,  and  a  low  wicker  table  strewn 
with  French  periodicals.  Across  one  corner  swung 
a  hammock,  hand-woven  of  dull  silk  cords  of  an  un- 
usual blue.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  space  gleamed 
a  pond,  its  edges  hidden  by  a  ring  of  yellow  irises. 
From  somewhere  among  the  plants  beyond  came  the 
incessant  tinkle  of  falling  water. 

"  I  don't  believe  it ! "  was  the  exclamation  liter- 
ally forced  from  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  You  think  it  nice  ?  "  she  asked,  in  the  deprecat- 
ing tones  of  a  possessor,  but  her  face  sparkled. 

"  It's  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  did  see,"  he  avowed. 

"  Ah,  there  comes  my  pet  —  petite  tortoise,  to 
welcome  you,"  she  cried,  stooping  for  a  dark  scram- 
bling object  which  had  just  hurled  itself  over  the  edge 
of  the  pond. 

"  A  turtle !  A  real,  live  turtle !  Please  let  me 
hold  it,"  pleaded  John. 

She  watched,  with  caressing  eyes,  as  he  lifted  the 
small  creature,  and  stroked  its  horny  back.  "  I  used 
to  have  one  at  home,"  he  explained,  as  if  feeling  that 
he  needed  to  account  for  his  childish  pleasure. 

"  Is  it  there  now?  " 

"  No.  The  first  year  I  went  off  to  college,  it  dug 
its  way  out  of  the  garden,  and  we  never  could  find  it." 

"  I  love  all  pets,"  Inez  told  him.  "  In  here  are 
even  some  crickets.  It  is  a  little  early  in  the  season 
for  them  to  chirp.  Do  you  like  to  hear  crickets 
chirp?" 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  113 

"  You  bet,"  said  John.  "  But  how  on  earth  do 
you  feed  them  ?  " 

"  On  cucumbers,  and  little  thin,  white  slices  of 
pear.  I  learned  it  in  Japan." 

"  You've  been  to  Japan  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  And  all  around  the  world  ?  " 

She  nodded  twice,  to  show  how  many  times. 

"  I  guess  you've  been  about  everywhere,"  he  then 
remarked,  and  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  his 
envy. 

"  Nevaire  to  Delphi,  Iowa,"  she  said,  demurely. 

"  That  was  unkind !  I  hope  you'll  have  to  live 
there  some  day,  just  for  punishment." 

She  shrugged  protesting  shoulders.  "  Can  you 
fancy  it?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  You  don't  seem  to  think  much  of 
Paris,  even  with  your  wonderful  Monseer  Quarant- 
Dozee,  and  the  Sorbonne.  Perhaps  in  a  more  arid 
habitat  you  could  be  more  yourself." 

"  And  p&ire-haps,"  she  flashed  back  at  him,  "  to  be 
myself  is  just  what  I  do  not  wish." 

John,  lifting  his  fascinated  eyes  from  the  tortoise, 
fixed  them  thoughtfully  on  her.  "  I  begin  to  believe 
that  that's  what  you  never  yet  have  been,"  he  sug- 
gested, and  was  on  the  point  of  elaborating  his 
theory  when,  by  a  sudden  change  of  voice  and  man- 
ner, she  checked  him.  Both  hands  went  up  to  her 
temples.  Her  brows  arched  in  protest.  "  'Elp ! 
'elp !  "  she  laughed.  "  I  am  to  be  vivisect !  Come, 


114?  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

petite  tortoise.  It  is  not  safe  to  remain  wid  this 
Jean  'Emingway.  You  must  go  back  to  your  waters 
of  oblivion." 

Still  laughing,  she  caught  the  little  creature  from 
him,  scratched  the  reptilian  head,  and  then,  gliding 
over  to  the  pond,  slid  it  under  the  dark  surface. 

"  There !  "  she  cried,  again  facing  John.  "  He  is 
restored.  And  so  must  be  his  mistress.  Now  we  go 
back  into  waters  of  oblivion, —  aussi." 

Leaving  the  conservatory  still  garish  with  light, 
she  hurried  back  into  the  drawing-rooms.  John 
overtook  her  at  the  piano.  He  had  noted  the  beau- 
tiful instrument  when  they  had  passed  before.  It 
was  a  medium-sized  grand,  plainly  finished,  and 
painted  a  deep  silver-grey.  It  stood  on  crystal  balls, 
and  in  the  centre  of  its  upper  surface  was  placed  a 
wide-mouthed  vessel  of  dull  pewter,  heaped  and  top- 
pling over  with  the  same  small  pink  roses  destined 
now,  forever,  to  be  associated  with  the  woman  at  his 
side. 

He  put  out  a  tentative  hand.  "  You  promised," 
he  smiled. 

"  Ahe, —  yes, —  I  will  sing.  The  mood  takes  me. 
But  you,  my  frien', —  you  will  go  way  back  an'  seet 
down  —  You  see  I  have  not  forgot  all  American 
slang!  You  will  go  to  some  place  where  I  cannot 
see  you.  So  I  will  sing  best." 

John  obeyed,  selecting  an  easy  chair  well  out  of 
range,  but  one  which  gave  him,  nevertheless,  an  en- 
chanting view  of  the  singer's  head,  crowned  with  loose 


JOHN  MAKES  A  CALL  115 

masses  of  dark  gold  hair,  and  the  slender  throat 
which  held  it  up  so  proudly. 

She  took  her  seat  slowly,  and,  after  an  interval  of 
silence,  began  to  murmur,  rather  than  to  sing,  a  lit- 
tle home-ballad  in  the  patois  of  the  New  Orleans 
Creole. 

"  That  is  the  song  of  the  red-wing  in  our  bayou 
marshes,"  she  explained,  without  turning.  "  Now, 
in  the  nex'  verse,  day  begins  to  fade.  Small  pere 
Red-wing,  he  says  to  la  mere  and  the  babies,  a  '  good- 
night.' " 

Again  the  long  throat  lifted.  From  it  came 
sounds  as  of  low  twittering;  and  these  rose  gradu- 
ally, clearing  into  veritable  bird-notes  so  true  and 
exquisitely  sweet  it  seemed  incredible  that  a  human 
creature  uttered  them. 

When  it  was  finished,  the  very  silence  thrilled  with 
harmonies.  John  did  not  jar  it  by  a  breath.  A 
swift  flash  of  appreciation  crossed  the  singer's  face. 

After  a  few  chords  on  a  different  key,  she  began 
"  Suwanee  River."  It  was  to  the  listener  as  if  he 
heard  a  well-loved  earth-song  echoed  by  some  high, 
freed  spirit  in  paradise.  Toward  the  last  he  began 
to  swallow  hard.  He  did  not  dare  take  out  his 
pocket-handkerchief.  He  called  himself  a  sentimen- 
tal, home-sick  fool,  and  cursed  inwardly  the  warm, 
bright  drops  that  persisted  in  gathering  under  his 
half-closed  lids.  This  time  he  was  glad  when  the 
last  note  faded. 

As  if  knowing  what  he  felt,  and  being  determined 


116  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

to  prove  to  the  utmost  all  the  magic  of  her  voice, 
Inez  started  the  opening  words  of  "  Mother  o' 
Mine." 

But  this  was  too  much  for  John's  overstrained 
nerves  and  heart.  "  No !  No !  "  he  protested,  grop- 
ing his  way  toward  her.  "  I  couldn't  stand  for  that 
right  now.  I  am  about  to  blubber  like  a  schoolboy 
as  it  is." 

"  Poor,  homesick  I'enfant,"  she  comforted. 
"  Then  here  —  comme  fa  —  I  will  the  bright  rattle 
shake." 

Looking  up  into  his  face  she  broke  into  a  merry 
Parisian  chanson. 

"  Thanks  awfully.  That  dries  them  like  a 
sponge !  "  he  exclaimed  gratefully,  and,  pretending 
that  it  was  pretence,  at  last  put  his  handkerchief  to 
his  wet  eyes. 

"  It  is  enough  for  the  one  dose,"  Madame  de 
Pierrefond  now  declared.  She  rose  and  stood  beside 
him. 

"  And  you've  had  enough  of  me  for  half-a-dozen 
doses,"  rejoined  the  visitor.  "  I'll  be  going  now. 
But  please  " —  here  he  bent  imploring  eyes  upon  her 
— "  please  say  that  I  may  come  again." 

"  You  may  come  again,  Jean  'Emingway." 


CHAPTER  IX 
JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS 

LIFE,  with  this  wonderful  new  friendship  to  illumine 
it,  became  now  for  John,  a  daily  and  a  conscious  joy. 
On  one  pretext  or  the  other,  his  visits  to  Madame  de 
Pierrefond  grew  closer  as  to  intervals,  as  well  as  in 
more  subtle  understanding. 

He  had  not  dreamed  that  women  like  Inez  could 
exist.  All  that  belonged,  by  right,  to  her  own  sex, — 
delicacy,  charm  and  intuition,  she  possessed  in  super- 
lative degree,  and  to  these  gifts  was  added  the  intel- 
lect of  a  man.  Within  a  few  weeks  she  had  gained 
from  him  a  complete  synopsis  of  his  work  at  the 
Ecole.  He  fell  into  the  way  of  discussing  with  her 
his  architectural  problems,  and  afterward  submitting 
the  drawings.  She  pondered  these  gravely,  looking 
so  girlish  and  utterly  feminine  as  she  bent  over  the 
flattened  scroll  that  the  frown  of  interest  seemed 
almost  in  the  nature  of  a  farce.  But  after  such  si- 
lent preoccupation,  when  the  gold-brown  head  was 
lifted  and  the  frown  displaced  by  a  triumphant  smile, 
her  forthcoming  comment  was  sure  to  reveal  keen 
penetration.  A  little  to  his  chagrin  John  found  that 
always  she  was  the  first  to  solve  a  difficulty,  and  that 
her  suggestions,  when  incorporated  in  his  next  at- 
tempt, invariably  brought  words  of  commendation 

from  his  instructor. 

117 


118  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

The  most  unassuming  of  men  possess  small,  secret 
reservoirs  of  vanity.  John,  not  realising  his  own  mo- 
tives of  self-defence,  fell  into  the  way  of  repeating  a 
statement  made  early  in  their  partnership,  to  the 
effect  that  he  did  not  assume  insight  or  facility  in 
anything  but  just  "  plain  architecture."  When,  in 
her  bright  arguments  she  would  use  such  terms  as 
"  musical  proportion  "  or  "  the  fundamental  inter- 
relation of  the  arts,"  he  would  give  a  deprecatory 
gesture  and  reiterate  his  ignorance  of  all  arts  but  his 
own. 

Once,  stung  into  retort,  Inez  flashed  back  at  him, 
"  Your  art!  Architecture  is  not  a  single  art,  like 
an  island  to  be  reached  by  a  single  bridge.  Paire- 
haps  you  think  you  have  your  one  bridge,  with  a 
sign  over  it  saying  *  The  £cole  des  Beaux  Arts  — 
placed  here  for  the  crossing  of  Monsieur  Jean  'Em- 
ingway' !  Pouf !  It  is  the  child  talk !  Your  art, 
more  than  any  other,  must  be  a  synthesis  of  them 
all !  Have  you  not  said,  of  yourself,  that  painting 
of  the  best  was  mural, —  to  decorate  a  given  space? 
What  are  the  immortal  figures  from  that  Parthenon 
but  items  in  one  superb  decoration?  No,  my  frien', 
of  all  arts  yours  is  the  last  that  can  be  split  apart, 
like  the  church  creeds  in  your  little  Delphi.  Try  to 
cut  it  off, —  it  is  the  breaking  of  a  branch  from  the 
Tree  of  Life.  Soon  it  will  be  withered." 

"  But  what  can  you  expect  ?  Where  I  come  from 
there  was  no  chance  to  study  the  others." 

"  I  expect,"  she  remarked,  with  entire  reasonable- 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS         119 

ness,  "  that  since  it  is  that  you  have  come,  and  since 
you  now  get  the  chance,  you  will  be  intelligent 
enough  to  accept  it." 

"  You  bet  I'll  accept !     Lead  me  to  it." 

"  Stupid  one !  " 

"  You  mean,"  he  cried,  his  face  brightening,  "  that 
you  are  willing  to  be  my  teacher?  " 

"  I  congratulate  that  you  are  at  last  able  to  see- 
before  your  nose,"  she  scoffed. 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow.  The  very  thought 
blinds  me." 

At  this  she  laughed,  relenting.  "  Then  it  is  set- 
tled. Behold  in  me  your  strict  and  awe-inspiring 
mentor." 

"  And  behold  in  me,"  he  rejoined,  laying  one  hand 
on  his  heart,  and  bowing  with  exaggerated  humility, 
"  your  most  grateful,  zealous  and  docile  pupil." 

She  tossed  her  bright  head  airily.  "  It  is  easy  to 
be  all  doze,  for  you  are  my  one  pupil  onlee." 

"  If  there  were  a  thousand  which,  thank  Heaven, 
there  are  not,  I  would  still  be  the  most  grate- 
ful." 

Madame  de  Pierrefond  gazed  upon  him  thought- 
fully. "  We  go  a  little  hastily.  Before  the  bargain 
is  complete, —  there  is  one  more  Art, —  the  greatest, 
which  we  have  not  spoke  of." 

John  wondered  for  an  instant,  then  in  her  deep 
eyes  saw  the  answer.  "You  mean, —  Life?" 

She  nodded  several  times.  "  Yes,  to  be  sure. 
The  Art  of  Life.  All, —  all  —  the  Arts,  if  they  are 


120  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

to  live  and  grow,  must  strike  root  deep  into  that 
cosmic  soil." 

John  felt  himself  growing  pale.  Something  like  a 
shiver  of  premonition  went  over  him.  The  words 
were  almost  identical  with  those  spoken  by  his  mother 
that  morning,  at  dawn,  when  they  said  their  real 
good-bye.  But  how  was  it  possible  that  two  minds, 
so  utterly  dissimilar, —  two  souls  nurtured  at  the 
very  antipodes  of  experience,  could  feel  and  express 
things  in  the  same  way? 

"You  do  not  like  that  thought!  No?"  Inez 
questioned,  leaning  toward  him  in  quick  sympathy. 

John  pressed  his  hand  upward  along  his  forehead. 
There  was  a  sudden  moisture  on  it. 

"  Yes, —  I  like  it  well,"  he  answered,  laughing  a 
little  unsteadily.  "  Only  it  rather  took  my  breath." 

It  was  his  companion's  turn  to  look  puzzled. 

"  But  never  mind  that  spasm.  It's  over ! "  he 
cried,  catching  himself  back  into  the  present.  "  And 
don't  you  forget  that  I'm  your  pupil,  accepted  and 
enrolled.  When  am  I  to  take  my  first  lesson?  " 

Her  wondering  expression  did  not  altogether 
fade. 

"  Since  the  mention  of  Life  has  so  queer  an  effect 
upon  you,"  she  began,  with  an  assumption  .pf  school- 
mistress severity,  "  we  shall  make  beginning  with 
some  simpler  form." 

"  Anything  you  say,  Teacher,"  agreed  John, 
meekly. 

"  Then,    let    me    see  — "     she    pondered    aloud. 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS         121 

"  This  day  is  Jeudi  —  pardon  —  Thursday.  On 
Sunday  afternoon  we  go  to  the  Louvre.  There  I 
shall  let  you  see  three  t'ings,  free  only, —  do  you  at- 
tend? "  Here  she  held  forth  that  number  of  white 
fingers. 

"  I  attend,  oh,  great,  compelling  One !  Is  it  in 
order  to  ask  what  I  am  to  be  shown?  " 

"  It  is  in  order, —  after  you  remove  the  many  twin- 
kles from  your  eyes." 

"  They  are  cast  to  the  winds  of  heaven,"  exclaimed 
the  young  man,  pretending  to  gather  glances  as  if 
there  were  overcrowded  pins  from  a  cushion. 

His  preceptress  maintained  an  air  of  detachment. 
"  Now  you  look  properly  serious,"  she  commended, 
when  the  absurd  gestures  came  to  an  end.  "  The 
first  thing  you  are  to  see  is  the  Winged  Victory. 
The  next,  a  Greek  charioteer  in  bronze,  and  after- 
ward,—  if  the  state  of  your  mind  permits  it, —  a 
scrap  of  marble  in  the  basement." 

John  murmured  humble  gratitude. 

"  Another  time,"  she  went  on,  evidently  satisfied 
with  the  intent  and  adoring  countenance  turned  to 
hers,  "  you  shall  be  led  again  to  the  Louvre,  to  stand 
before  just  one  thing." 

"And  that?" 

"  A  very  perfect,  small  model  of  the  Parthenon." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I've  seen  that?  "  John  pro- 
tested. "  It's  part  of  our  course.  I've  been  half  a 
dozen  times." 

"  I  do  not  know  or  care  about  your  stupid  !Ecole 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

course,"  asseverated  this  Minerva,  in  crisp  disap- 
proval of  his  outbreak.  "  My  methods  are  individ- 
ual. Even  if  you  have  gone  'alf-a-dozen  times,  as 
you  say, —  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  you  saw 
anything." 

"  I'm  in  the  dust  again,"  sighed  John.  "  Sit  on 
me, —  trample  me !  Only,  Athene,  retain  me  for 
your  disciple." 

On  his  way  home  that  evening,  the  thought  per- 
sisting in  John's  mind  —  clinging  to  it  like  a  scrap 
of  chiffon  in  a  wind-tossed  tree  —  was  the  almost  in- 
credible similarity  of  Inez'  words  to  those  spoken,  a 
year  back,  by  his  mother.  He  was  genuine  in  his 
belief  that  the  differences  between  them  spanned  the 
full  width  of  human  temperament.  Inez  was  a  flower 
of  the  present, —  her  brilliant  mind  leaned  forward, 
gathering  all  new  influences ;  that  of  his  mother  was 
conservative,  restricted,  tied  back  like  her  own 
"  porch  "  roses,  to  a  stiff  trellis  of  precedent.  His 
honest  belief  in  this  difference  which  might,  if  forced, 
pass  easily  into  antagonism,  had  been  his  chief  rea- 
son —  or  so  he  now  assured  himself  —  for  never  yet 
having  mentioned  Inez  in  his  letters. 

Why  he  had  been  so  reluctant  to  speak  freely  to 
his  new,  delightful  friend  about  the  little  mother, 
called  for  a  deeper  self-analysis.  He  tried  to  think 
it  out  now,  but,  as  usual,  it  baffled  him.  Inez  and 
he  had  pledged  themselves  to  speak  freely  on  all  top- 
ics. Perhaps  this  was  just  the  trouble.  He  could 
not  regard  his  mother  as  a  "  topic."  At  first  Inez 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS        123 

had  questioned  him,  and  had  even  urged  that  he  show 
her  a  photograph.  This  he  had  never  done.  Grad- 
ually he  fell  into  the  way  of  avoiding  all  reference 
to  his  distant  home.  He  could  not  be  sure  whether 
or  not  Inez  had  noted  his  evasion.  Her  perfect  tact 
could  be  counted  on  to  swerve  the  conversational 
skiff  from  threatening  rocks. 

A  letter  from  home  was  due  this  very  day.  He 
would  probably  find  one  on  the  corner  of  his  draught- 
ing-board,  that  conspicuous  ledge  being  the  spot 
chosen  by  Felice  for  the  display  of  his  meagre  post. 

He  went  up  the  stairs  rather  slowly.  With  each 
step  mounted  his  resolution  to  break  through  this 
unnecessary  wall  of  silence,  and,  should  a  letter  from 
his  mother  really  be  there,  in  answering  it,  to  tell  her 
frankly  of  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  and  all  that  her 
friendship  meant. 

There  would  be  no  need,  of  course,  to  relate  the 
facts  of  their  somewhat  unconventional  meeting.  In 
Delphi  one  did  not  make  new  friends  among  tree 
branches.  Nor  would  it  be  quite  fair,  either  to  his 
mother  or  to  Inez,  should  he  attempt,  in  this  first 
letter,  to  impart  any  of  the  new  friend's  advanced 
ideas.  No,  he  would  merely  state  that  he  had 
"  met  "  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  an  American  and  a 
widow.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  deep  thankfulness 
that  he  realised  the  entire  truth  and  correctness  of 
this  definite  term.  Suppose  he  had  had  to  place  be- 
fore it  that  loathsome,  cheap  and  verdant  adjective 
used  by  his  countrymen  to  distinguish  the  false  arti- 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

cle  from  the  real !  Not  that  it  would  have  mattered 
at  all  to  him.  He  was  fast  outgrowing  narrow 
prejudice, —  but  for  his  mother! 

This  comforting  reflection  had  brought  him  to  his 
door.  Turning  on  the  lights  within  he  saw  not  one, 
but  three  letters,  arranged  in  stiff  precision.  Before 
touching  them  he  knew  who  had  written  each.  Be- 
sides the  dear,  expected  missive,  there  was  one  from 
Charlie  Abbey,  and  one  —  alarmingly  thick  —  ad- 
dressed in  Mrs.  Abbey's  small,  spidery  hand.  John's 
heart  gave  a  disagreeable  contraction.  He  had  not 
thought  of  Charlie  Abbey  for  weeks.  The  last  news, 
conveyed  through  Mrs.  Hemingway,  had  been  that 
Charlie's  mother  had  "  backed  out  "  of  her  promise. 

He  took  up  the  boy's  first.  It  was  in  a  large 
square  envelope.  The  address  was  scrawled  as  by 
a  person  in  a  frenzy  of  joy.  It  could  mean  nothing 
else  but  that  Charlie  was  coming. 

John  gave  an  impatient  sigh,  drew  up  a  chair 
to  his  desk,  and  turned  on  the  reading  lamp.  After 
the  first  paragraph  he  groaned  and  dropped  the  let- 
ter. Charlie  was  leaving  Delphi  that  very  day.  In 
ten  more  he  would  be  at  Boulogne,  where  he  im- 
plored John  to  "  run  down "  and  meet  him. 
*'  Mother  is  sore  because  I  won't  stop  over  at  Bos- 
ton and  visit  a  lot  of  her  relatives,"  he  had  written, 
"  but  no  refrigerated  beans  for  mine !  If  my  ship 
is  in  port  when  I  reach  New  York,  I'm  going  to  hide 
among  the  cargo  and  chloroform  myself,  so  that 
mother  can't  stop  my  getting  away." 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS        125 

Cruelly  ignoring  the  following  pages  of  antici- 
pated rapture,  John  snapped  off  the  light,  and  gave 
himself  over  to  troubled  thoughts.  Nothing  could 
be  more  disturbing  at  this  particular  time.  "  Why 
on  earth  couldn't  he  have  waited  a  little  longer? 
And  why  was  he  such  a  mutt  as  to  refuse  to  visit  his 
mother's  relatives  ?  "  John  growled  aloud. 

Within  a  short  time  the  young  man  had  worked 
himself  into  a  veritable  passion  of  resentment.  Any 
boy  who  could  treat  his  mother  so  badly  did  not  de- 
serve consideration.  It  would  serve  him  "  jolly 
well  right  " —  as  the  young  Englishman  at  the  Ecole 
was  so  fond  of  saying  —  if  he  were  altogether  ig- 
nored. 

Then,  all  at  once,  the  humour  of  it  came,  and 
John  laughed,  if  somewhat  ruefully,  at  his  own  boy- 
ish folly.  Of  course  nothing  was  the  matter  with 
Charlie's  coming  except  that  he,  John,  was  losing 
his  head  over  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  and  didn't 
want  the  delirious  process  checked.  "  It's  time  that 
I  was  facing  more  than  one  fact  clearly,"  he  told 
himself.  "  How  can  I  hope  to  have  a  chance  with 
such  a  woman?  She's  rich  and  I  am  poor.  This 
one  thing  would  be  enough  to  keep  me  at  a  distance. 
Maybe  Charlie's  coming  just  now  is  a  godsend  after 
all." 

Being  thus  restored  to  sanity,  he  turned  back  the 
lamp  into  brightness,  and  opened  his  mother's  let- 
ter. At  the  first  words  his  eyes  softened.  It  was 
like  her  own  gentle  hand  upon  his  hair. 


126  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  How  glad  you  will  be,  dear  son,  that  Charles  is 
to  join  you  at  last!  I  know  so  well  what  the  sight 
of  a  home  face  will  mean  to  you.  I  don't  need  to 
write  much  news  this  time,  as  Charles  will  tell  it  in 
his  own  cheerful  way.  He  is  bringing  you  a  little 
box  from  home.  Molly  and  I  cooked  everything. 
I  hope  it  will  all  be  fresh  and  palatable.  He  brings 
also  the  last  batch  of  socks.  I  like  those  silk  ones. 
They  wear  out  so  much  quicker." 

John  pressed  this  last  sentence  to  his  lips. 
"  Heaven  bless  that  Mother  o'  Mine,"  he  whsipered. 

The  evening  had  brought  already  many  conflict- 
ing emotions.  The  little  travelling  clock  on  the 
desk  —  one  of  his  mother's  gifts  —  pointed  to 
twelve.  He  took  up  Mrs.  Abbey's  still  un-opened 
screed,  twirled  it  reflectively,  and  then  laid  it  down. 
It  would  need  tremendous  concentration  to  read 
through  all  those  finely  written  pages.  "  And  what's 
the  use,  anyhow?  "  he  vindicated.  "  I  know  all  she's 
going  to  say.  Aunt  Clara's  list  of  Parisian  *  don'ts  ' 
will  seem  like  a  Sunday-school  chart  beside  it." 

He  gave  a  great  yawn,  then  rose,  and  began  pre- 
paring for  bed.  As  he  moved  about,  his  mind  — 
in  spit'e  of  the  recent  yawn  —  began  to  grow  clearer 
and  strangely  vivacious.  "  Perhaps  when  the  room 
is  good  and  dark,  I'll  feel  sleepy,"  he  muttered.  But 
once  on  his  pillow  a  thousand  winged  fancies  pricked 
him.  Almost  he  could  see  the  glimmer  of  their  on- 
coming flight. 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS        127 

After  half  an  hour  of  restlessness,  he  gave  up  all 
hopes  of  sleep,  and,  attaching  the  reading  lamp  to  a 
socket  near  the  bed,  propped  himself  up  and  pre- 
pared to  read. 

The  book  chosen  was  the  most  recent  of  Professor 
Carant-Dozie's  to  be  put  into  English.  Several 
days  before  Inez  had  loaned  it,  saying,  with  what 
he  now  recalled  an  unusual  gravity,  "  Please  read  it, 
—  every  word." 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  opened  it.  He  did 
so  now  at  random.  The  chapter  thus  disclosed  was 
called  "  The  Injustices  to  Both  of  Legal  Marriages.'* 
He  frowned,  and  made  as  if  to  turn  the  page,  but, 
somehow,  his  fingers  clung.  Inez  had  said  that  he 
must  read  every  word.  "  How  in  the  dickens  can 
there  be  any  marriage  except  legal  ones,"  he  grum- 
bled. "  This  French  idiot  makes  me  sick ! " 

But  after  all,  the  idiot  was  Inez'  teacher,  just  as 
she  had  promised  to  be  his ;  and  Inez,  as  he  was  dis- 
contentedly aware,  possessed  queer  ideas  about  the 
marriage  state.  Now  and  again  she  had  flung  out 
remarks  that  made  him  wince.  Heretofore  a  certain 
reserve  had  withheld  him  from  questioning  her  as  to 
the  reality  of  her  beliefs  and  disbeliefs.  He  now  saw, 
in  this  interval  of  unusual  mental  clarity,  that  his 
present  relationship  with  Madame  de  Pierrefond  was 
among  the  things  to  be  dispassionately  faced.  Both 
were  still  eager  and  suspiciously  ready  to  refer  to 
their  compact  of  sincerity,  but  John,  at  least,  had 


128  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

begun  to  realise  the  paradox  that  with  the  increase 
of  intimacy  there  came  a  corresponding  decrease  in 
the  subjects  discussed. 

The  "  dark  spots  "  in  Inez'  life,  for  instance,  had 
not  yet  been  illumined.  To  do  her  justice,  she  had 
more  than  once  attempted  it.  It  had  been  John  who 
checked  her,  saying,  "  Oh,  don't  let's  bother  about 
it  to-day.  There's  plenty  of  time." 

If  in  her  instant  acquiescence  there  was  a  savour 
of  relief,  who  could  blame  her?  No  woman,  however 
intellectual  or  "  advanced,"  can  relish  the  displaying 
of  scars. 

Now  as  John  read,  he  fumed.  No  matter  what 
Inez'  personal  experiences,  they  could  not  justify 
her  in  following  the  blasphemous,  inhuman,  unfemi- 
nine  logic  of  this  modern  iconoclast.  Why!  The 
man  left  nothing  sacred !  Motherhood  was  merely  a 
duty  to  the  state.  The  accident  of  sex  alone  laid 
the  unpleasant  duty  at  woman's  door.  If  children 
could  be  produced  by  machinery,  so  much  the  better. 
All  the  traditions  of  hearth  and  home,  all  sweet  do- 
mestic habit  were  held  up  for  ridicule.  A  man,  and 
equally  his  mate  —  the  brute  at  least  granted  the  ra- 
tionality of  mating  —  were  of  service  only  in  pro- 
portion to  their  intellects,  and  what  those  joint  in- 
tellects could  achieve  for  the  common  good.  Reli- 
gious marriage  he  regarded  as  a  relic  of  superstitious 
barbarism,  and  legal  ones  as  the  act  of  moral  cow- 
ards. The  one  true  union  in  these  enlightened 
times,  so  the  writer  declared,  was  when  two  free, 


JOHN  ENTERS  A  LIFE-CLASS         129 

noble,  earnest  souls  joined  hands,  pledging  them- 
selves and  the  community  to  live  and  work  together, 
always  for  the  betterment  of  all  mankind,  until  such 
time  as  one,  or  both,  of  them  began  to  feel  a  lessen- 
ing of  the  physical  attraction  which  was,  indubi- 
tably? of  benefit  in  enhancing  other  faculties. 

At  this  point  the  reader  cursed  aloud,  and  flung 
the  volume  to  the  floor.  Not  until  the  dawn  began 
to  steal  upon  him  did  he  sleep,  and  then  in  a  night- 
mare vision  beheld  Inez  in  Athenian  robes  and  a  pair 
of  the  socks  his  mother  had  darned,  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  Louvre  and  announcing  in  a  shrill  voice, 
to  the  population  of  Paris  that  she  chose  Jean  5Em- 
ingway  for  her  soul-mate,  and  intended  having  a 
large  family  by  machinery. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  FIRST  LESSON 

THE  two  days  that  needed  to  elapse  before  John 
was  to  take  his  lesson,  were  not  specially  happy  ones. 
Facts,  of  the  kind  that  have  to  be  definitely  "  faced," 
do  net,  as  a  rule,  go  garlanded  in  flowers.  In  com- 
mon with  another  breed  of  "  stubborn  things,"  their 
floral  affinity  is  more  apt  to  be  a  thistle. 

On  Sunday,  as  he  and  Inez  drove  toward  the 
Louvre,  he  struggled  valiantly  to  keep  at  bay  the 
shadow  of  his  heaped  and  menacing  perplexities. 
During  the  drive  she  chattered  incessantly.  Never 
had  she  been  more  beautiful,  or  more  becomingly  ar- 
rayed. She  was  like  some  merry-hearted  schoolgirl, 
out  for  a  day  of  liberty.  John,  watching  her,  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  incongruity  between  her  ap- 
pearance and  the  startling  theories  which  she 
claimed.  More  bitterly  than  ever  did  he  hate  Pro- 
fessor Carant-Dozie,  and  under  his  breath  cursed  the 
day  in  which  Inez  began  to  feel  his  sinister  power. 

As  they  went,  side  by  side,  up  the  Louvre  steps, 
the  memory  of  his  nightmare  dream  flashed  back,  giv- 
ing him  a  sensation  of  treachery  and  shame.  His 
eager  companion  led  him,  as  she  had  warned,  straight 
to  the  footstool  of  the  Victory.  After  a  moment  of 

silence  in  which  he  had  felt,  rather  than  heard,  the 

130 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  131 

long,  reverent  intake  of  her  breath,  she  began  to 
speak.  At  the  first  it  required  no  effort  for  him  to 
follow.  There  were  wonderful  things  she  had  to  say 
this  afternoon.  Dimly  John  felt  that  he  would  have 
to  "  grow  up  "  a  good  many  intellectual  inches  be- 
fore he  could  quite  reach  her  highest  branches.  The 
last  thing  she  wished  was  to  make  him  conscious  of 
this  disparity,  but  there  were  times,  as  now,  when  the 
sight  of  supreme  beauty  obsessed  her.  Impressions 
and  emotions  flowed  from  her  lips  in  a  stream  of 
liquid  fire,  and  she  would  forget  that  a  listener  was 
near. 

In  spite  of  frequent  self-spurring,  the  young  man's 
attention  began  to  flag.  His  mind  had  been  kept 
too  long  on  tip-toes.  A  few  very  human  muscles  be- 
gan to  ache.  The  thoughts  of  his  personal  vexa- 
tions swarmed  over  him,  stinging  like  insects,  and 
trying  their  malicious  best  to  drag  him  back  into 
reality. 

All  at  once  Inez  turned,  giving  keen  scrutiny. 
'"You  are  distrait,  mon  ami.  Yes?" 

"I  am,— a  little,"  he  admitted.  "I'll  tell  you 
.about  it  later." 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  quick,  decisive 
gestures.  "  It  is  better  at  once.  I  waste  time  of  a 
pupil  who  has  other  things  on  his  mind.  We  will  sit 
here." 

He  followed  submissively,  seating  himself  on  one 
of  the  crimson  velvet  sofas  that  are  to  be  found  in  all 
European  galleries. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  It's  disgusting  of  me  to  have  shown  you  that  I 
was  troubled,"  John  began  apologetically. 

"  As  if  you  could  'elp  the  showing !  "  she  smiled. 

"  Then  you  noticed  it  all  along?  " 

"  Yess, —  at  the  once.  I  did  not  speak  before, 
for  I  had  the  belief  that  when  we  had  reached  the 
High  Gods  — "  Her  clear  voice  broke  in  air.  She 
bowed,  and  stretching  out  her  hands,  palms  down, 
made  a  little  gesture  of  salaam,  first  to  the  poised 
Victory  arid  then  to  the  tall  young  charioteer  in 
bronze  which  stands  quite  near,  and  which,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  is  one  of  the  greatest  treasures  old 
Time  has  left  us. 

"  They  are  stunning  enough  to  have  made  me  for- 
get," murmured  John,  contritely.  "  But  somehow 
they  didn't." 

"  Voila!  Then  we  climb  down  from  Olympus  and 
enter  the  clinic.  Let  us  'ave  the  thorn  out !  " 

John  opened  his  lips  to  declare  it  not  one  thorn 
but  several,  thought  better  of  the  impulse,  and  stated, 
simply,  "  A  friend  of  mine  from  Delphi  will  soon  be 
here." 

"A  friend?     Is  it  a  ladee?" 

"  No.     A  chap  named  Charlie  Abbey." 

"  That  is  a  nice  name, —  Shariee  Abbee,"  she 
mused.  "  Is  he  the  nice  chap  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  put  in  a  light,  almost  teas- 
ing voice. 

"  Oh,  Charlie's  all  right,  as  kids  go." 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  133 

She  sent  a  swift  side-glance  upward  to  his  scowling 
countenance.  Her  own  was  now  sparkling  with  mis- 
chief. 

"  Fie !  Jean  'Emingway, —  that  you  do  not  wish 
to  see  yo'  friend  from  'oine." 

"  Have  I  said  I  didn't  want  to  see  him  ?  "  John 
growled. 

"  As  if  there  was  the  need ! "  Her  raillery  was 
now  so  evident  that  he  faced  her. 

"  Of  course  I'll  be  glad  to  see  the  boy,"  he  cried, 
almost  angrily.  "  It's  only  — " 

"  On — lee?  "  she  prodded. 

"  Look  here !  You're  making  fun.  You  know 
just  as  well  as  I  do  what's  the  matter.  I  don't  like 
the  idea  of  his  butting  in." 

"  Butt — ing  —  in  ?  "  she  repeated  slowly,  and  in 
genuine  astonishment.  "Is  Sharlee  then  a  goat?" 

John  was  forced  into  a  laugh.  "  Not  by  any 
means.  I  think  I'm  that.  Now,  don't  look  so  puz- 
zled. *  Butt-in  '  is  only  American  slang.  It  means 
intrude, —  interfere, —  come  between.  I  don't  want 
Charlie  or  anybody  else  to  come  between  us." 

"Must  Sharley  come  between?"  she  questioned, 
with  downcast  lids.  "  Could  he  not  stop  on  this 
other  side  of  me?  " 

"  Not  while  I  am  on  this,"  declared  John.  "  You 
are  my  teacher,  and  I  don't  propose  to  share  you." 

The  merriment  in  her  eyes  sobered  to  a  more  tender 
radiance,  yet  she  could  not  forbear  one  further  dart. 


134  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I  am  hurt.  You  seem  to  be  what  they  call  the 
monopolist.  That  is  against  all  principles  of  mod- 
ern sociology,  friend  Jean." 

"  I  don't  care  a  hang  about  modern  sociology, — 
especially  as  set  forth  by  that  plausible  idiot,  Carant- 
Dozie,"  he  exploded.  In  the  ensuing  pause  he  felt 
the  pincers  on  another  set  of  thorns. 

In  Inez'  face  all  smiles  had  faded. 

"  You  mus'  not  speak  to  me  so  of  Monsieur  Car- 
ant-Dozie,"  she  said  in  a  low,  distinct  voice.  "  He 
is  my  frien',  and,  as  you  know,  I  believe  in  his  teach- 
ing, and  will  follow  it." 

"  Not  all  of  it !  Good  Lord,  Inez,—  not  all!  "  he 
broke  out  with  vehemence.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  used  her  Christian  name.  He,  at  least,  seemed 
unaware  of  the  new  liberty. 

Madame  de  Pierrefond  sat  very  still.  She  did  not 
answer  for  some  moments.  His  hurt,  eager  eyes  fed 
on  the  white  face  near.  She  did  not  betray  herself 
by  a  tremor  and  yet  he  felt  that  her  mind  was  a  bat- 
tle-field of  warring  impulses. 

"  I  read  all  of  that  last  fool  book, —  each  word  of 
it,"  he  almost  groaned.  "  I  can't  believe  that  you 
subscribe  in  full  to  views  like  that." 

Inez  rose  very  slowly.  "  Our  mission  here  to-day 
was  of  Art,  and  not  philosophee,"  she  said.  "  And 
our  first  lesson  has  not  been  the  success.  I  am  tired. 
Shall  we  go  back  to  my  rooms  for  tea  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  me  to,"  said  John,  stalking  beside 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  135 

her.  He  felt  very  much  like  a  derelict  schoolboy,  but 
as  they  paced,  in  silence,  the  long  marble  halls,  he 
was  saying  to  himself,  many  times  over,  and  with  in- 
creased vehemence  at  every  repetition,  that  neither 
Inez  de  Pierrefond  nor  any  other  woman  should  bam- 
boozle him  into  accepting  the  Frenchman's  impious 
doctrine. 

He  called  a  taxi-cab  and  they  drove  home,  but  now 
each  was  mute  and  heavy  with  self-consciousness. 
Inez'  gaiety  had  fallen  like  petals  from  a  rose.  At 
her  door  the  young  man  hesitated,  "  Do  you  really 
want  me  to  come  in?  " 

Inez  looked  at  him  as  at  something,  for  the  mo- 
ment, forgotten,  "  Mais  oui,"  she  said  politely. 
"Did  I  not  ask  you?" 

After  a  perfect  tea,  the  strain  between  the  friends 
showed  signs  of  relaxation.  John,  being  a  man,  and 
a  singularly  uncomplex  one,  made  no  effort  to  assist ; 
but  Inez,  in  her  role  of  hostess,  soon  forced  herself 
back  into  a  more  ordinary  state  of  mind. 

"  Suppose  we  now  return  to  Sharlee,"  she  sug- 
gested, when  John  had  refused  to  eat  another  of  the 
small,  honey-sweet  French  cakes,  and  was  lighting  a 
cigarette.  "  When  does  he  arrive  ?  " 

"  On  July  eighteenth.     This  is  the  tenth." 

"  Eight  more  days,"  she  murmured,  counting  them 
off  on  the  gilt  arm  of  her  chair.  "  It  is  the  heaps  of 
time  for  you  to  get  ready.  You  will  meet  him  at  the 
steamer?  Yes? " 


136  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  It's  my  intention  to  try  it.  I  only  hope  I  won't 
get  submerged  in  a  whirlpool  of  French  vocables  on 
the  way." 

"  You  cannot  get  lost  from  here  to  Boulogne,  if 
only  you  remain  on  the  cars  until  the  whole  train 
stops.  Now,  one  more  question.  Is  Sharlee,  like 
you,  to  study  the  architecture?  " 

"  No,  he's  going  to  make  a  try  for  Art.  He  has 
wanted  to  for  years,  but  he  is  dependent,  financially, 
on  his  mother,  and  Mrs.  Abbey  —  well, —  Mrs. 
Abbey  is,  as  we  say  in  Delphi,  rather  set  in  her  ways." 

"And  only  just  now  she  has  consent?" 

John  nodded.  "  But  even  now  she  has  tied  him  up 
with  a  whole  string  of  conditions." 

"  Conditions?     I  do  not  understand." 

"  Oh,  limitations, —  things  he  must  do  and, —  es- 
pecially must  not." 

"  But  how  can  she  know  of  it  all,  when  she  is  not  to 
be  here?  " 

"That  little  fact  wouldn't  phase  Mrs.  Abbey," 
laughed  John.  "  She  thinks  she  can  run  Paris  from 
Delphi  as  well  as  she  could  from  the  Hotel  de  Ville." 

"  May  I  hear  just  one  condition?  "  Inez  requested, 
with  ice  and  disapproval  in  her  tone. 

"  You  shall  hear  all,  if  I  can  remember  them.  The 
most  absurd  is  that  Charlie  must  get  the  cheapest 
teacher  he  can  find,  until  he  has  shown  that  he  is 
worth  putting  under  a  first-class  one." 

He  turned  to  look  at  her,  prepared  for  indigna- 
tion, but  not  the  burning  fury  in  her  eyes. 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  137 

"  Imbecile !  "  she  almost  sobbed.  "  An'  she  would 
not  send  her  cook  to  a  poor  chef  first !  Poor  Shar- 
lee." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  Mrs.  Abbey," 
palliated  John.  "  She  means  well." 

This  innocent  and  charitable  remark  instead  of 
soothing,  lashed  his  hearer  into  a  new  frenzy. 
"Means  well!  Means  well!"  she  repeated,  pushing 
the  words  out  between  clenched  teeth.  "  That  is  the 
slogan  of  the  evil  ones.  What  difference  if  she  means 
well,  when  the  boy's  spirit  is  bent, —  his  young  heart 
silenced.  Oh,  if  I  could  keel  wid'  my  own  hand,  doze 
'ippocrites  who  say  '  mean  well ' !  Don't  think  me 
mad,  Jean  'Emingway,"  she  hurtled  on,  unconscious 
in  her  excitement  that  all  her  English  "  h's  "  were 
being  left  behind.  "  I  know  but  onlee  too  well  what 
I  now  speak  of.  So  it  was  my  mother  said,  when  she 
took  me  from  my  convent, —  to  make  of  me  the  —  the 
—  creature  of  the  foulest  man  on  earth.  Now  you 
understan'  just  why  doze  words  are,  for  me,  the  Rus- 
sian knout-lash." 

John,  tingling  under  another  lash,  gave  a  low  cry 
and  sprang  toward  her. 

"  No !  No !  "  she  exclaimed,  checking  him  by  a 
wild  gesture.  "  Please  come  not.  I  mus'  fight  alone 
for  a  little !  " 

There  was  nothing  for  him  bat  a  return  to  the 
just-vacated  chair.  The  room  seemed  packed  and 
charged  with  a  sinister  magnetism.  No  sound  was 
heard  but  a  soft  whipping  to  and  fro  of  trailing 


138  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

silk.     He  bent  over,  hiding  his  eyes  with  his  hands. 

So  he  sat  through  the  storm.  After  an  interval  in 
which  he  seemed  to  himself  to  have  grown  ten  years 
older,  he  was  conscious  of  tense  silence,  and  knew 
that  Inez  was  beginning  to  win  her  battle  for  self- 
control. 

He  ventured  to  look  up.  She  was  standing  by 
one  of  the  front  windows,  her  forehead  pressed  against 
a  closed  pane  of  glass.  Every  few  moments  a  shud- 
der ran  over  her ;  but  they  gradually  became  farther 
and  farther  apart.  At  length  she  drew  a  long,  long 
sigh  and  turned. 

"  Inez !  "  the  man  cried,  and  now  she  did  not  check 
his  swift  advance. 

"  Do  not  be  sorry,"  she  whispered  through  lips 
that  still  twitched.  "  I  'ave  fight  wid  de  beasts  at 
Ephesus." 

"  Inez !  "  he  cried  again,  brokenly. 

She  gave  one  upward  frightened  glance.     "  Not 
now, —  not  now,"  she  shivered.    "  There  are  things  — 
I  cannot  listen  now." 

"  Then  I  must  leave  you,"  he  said  gravely. 

Again  she  raised  the  terrified  look.  Now  there 
was  pleading  in  it. 

"  No, —  do  not  leave  me." 

At  that  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  she,  clinging  to 
him,  wept  as  he  had  never  thought  to  hear  a  woman 
weep.  Between  her  sobs  could  be  heard  disjointed 
syllables,  or  at  times  entire  words.  More  than  once 


THE  FIRST  LESSON  139 

he  caught  "  impossible."  Then  came  the  broken  sen- 
tence, "  You  never  could  tolerate,"  and  after  it,  the 
hated  name  "  Carant-Dozie." 

Wisely  he  made  no  attempt  to  answer,  only  held 
her  close,  pressing  his  lips  again  and  again  upon  her 
thick  fragrant  hair. 

But  how  had  it  happened?  He  had  assured  him- 
self so  often  that  there  could  be  nothing  but  friend- 
ship between  him  and  this  beautiful  Strange  Woman. 
He  had  felt  so  sure  of  himself,  and  now,  all  in  a  mo- 
ment, she  was  in  his  arms,  and  he,  a  mad  infatuated 
lover,  strained  her  to  him  as  if  he  could  never  let  her 
go.  And  by  God,  he  never  would!  She  was  his 
mate, —  the  only  woman  In  the  world  for  him.  Why 
should  her  money  come  between, —  or  her  queer  opin- 
ions? Once  his  own,  he  could  win  her  around  to  san- 
ity. Of  course  she  was  different  from  women  at 
home.  She  would  be  criticised  by  them  —  misunder- 
stood,—  perhaps  affronted.  There  was  no  law  com- 
pelling him  to  keep  his  wife  forever  in  one  spot.  His 
wife!  The  rapture  almost  sickened  him.  Could  it 
be  he,  John  Hemingway  of  Delphi,  Iowa,  thus  think- 
ing some  day  to  possess  that  tropic,  radiant  spirit  for 
his  own?  With  her  beside  him  he  could  afford  to 
smile  at  Delphi's  Pharisaical  condemnation.  There 
was  only  one  whose  opinion  really  mattered  —  his 
mother ! 

This  thought  came,  like  a  physical  blow,  straight 
between  the  eyes.  Unconsciously  his  tense  hold 


140  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

slackened.  It  was  only  for  the  fraction  of  an  in- 
stant, but  in  that  fraction  the  woman,  also,  suffered 
a  subtle  change.  As  he  caught  her  nearer  with  an 
almost  desperate  strength,  he  felt  that  she  struggled 
for  release.  One  hand  was  set  against  his  breast  as 
a  lever.  She  turned  her  face  away,  crying  out, — 
""  this,  too,  is  over,  Jean.  You  mus'  not  hold  me.  I 
am  quite  now  myself."  She  gave  a  choking  little 
laugh,  meant  to  reassure  him. 

"  You  are  not  yourself,"  he  declared,  with  tender 
emphasis.  "  Why,  you  shake  like  an  aspen  leaf ! 
Come  over  with  me  to  the  sofa." 

"  No, —  no !  "  she  protested,  pushing  still  farther 
away.  "  You  have  'elp  me,  Jean, —  my  Jean.  But 
now  it  is  more  kind  if  you  go." 

"  You  will  send  me  from  you,  like  this  ?  " 

"  Like  this,  and  wort1,"  she  persisted.  "  The  day 
is  passing.  Soon  servants  will  come  to  light  the 
rooms.  I  wish  you  not  to  see  me  wid  red  eyes."  She 
pressed  the  scrap  of  handkerchief,  in  turn,  against 
them. 

"  As  if  I  cared  about  your  eyes  being  red !  "  re- 
torted John. 

"  But  I  care.  I  care  much.  I  do  not  wish  to  have 
you  see  me  look  so  uglee." 

"  Nonsense." 

"  You  will  not  go?  "  she  murmured  faintly. 

"  I  will  not." 

At  this  she  drooped  against  him  and  began  to  weep 
anew.  This  time  there  was  no  vehemence  or  passion. 


THE  FIRST  LESSON 

Her  sobs  were  those  of  an  exhausted  child  who  sees 
there  is  no  hope. 

John  stood  it  for  two  minutes.  "  Don't  cry  like 
that ! "  he  pleaded.  "  Inez.  Inez!  Do  you  hear 
me.  Good  God,  I  can't  stand  thisl  I'll  go  if  you 
really  want  it.  But  first — " 

He  put  one  shaking  hand  under  her  chin,  lifting 
the  tear-wet  face. 

She  made  no  resistance,  only  he  felt  the  sob,  sud- 
denly checked,  pass  into  a  long,  suppressed  shudder. 
His  heart  and  head  were  both  on  fire,  but  through  the 
flame  his  good  angel  touched  him. 

"  No, —  not  like  this,"  he  muttered.  "  You  were 
right.  I  had  better  go." 

At  the  door  he  gave  one  backward  glance.  She 
had  flung  herself  into  his  chair,  her  face  buried 
against  the  cushioned  back.  He  thought  of  a  bruised 
white  rose,  wind-spent,  and  beaten  to  earth  by  sudden 
storm. 


CHAPTER  XI 
JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER  AND  MEETS  A  FRIEND 

JOHN  bore,  as  if  in  upraised  hands,  his  flaming 
spirit  out  into  the  early  night.  He  glanced  a  little 
shyly  at  each  passer-by.  It  seemed  incredible  that 
he  could  be  thus  self-consumed,  a  veritable  Horeb's 
bush  of  incandescent  thought,  yet  give  no  outward, 
visible  sign.  It  was  with  relief,  mingled  with  vague 
astonishment,  that  he  realised  his  ordinary  incon- 
spicuousness.  Not  one  curious  glance  had  followed 
him. 

For  hours  he  walked  the  streets,  sometimes  in  drag- 
ging reverie,  or  again  swiftly,  under  the  touch  of  a 
leaping  tongue  of  fire.  More  than  once  he  crossed 
his  own  doorway.  With  the  instinct  common  to  all 
startled  animals,  he  had  made  for  the  familiar  lair, 
but  whenever  he  paused,  sending  a  tentative  look  up- 
wards, the  thought  came  that  man-built  rooms  were 
too  small  to  contain  this  blazing  whirlwind  which 
lately  had  been  himself. 

Fatigue,  clutching  at  last  the  pulse  of  his  excite- 
ment, drew  him  within,  and  up  the  narrow  stairs. 
Surely  he  must  sleep  now!  He  stumbled  into  his 
room  and  sank,  an  inert  mass,  into  the  nearest  chair. 

All  at  once  the  bewildering  excitation  went.     He  felt 

143 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

like  his  mother's  scrap-basket,  emptied  by  a  single 
turn  of  the  wrist,  upon  a  wide,  bare  floor. 

He  sat  on  in  the  darkness.  A  sort  of  stupor  be- 
gan to  creep  upon  him.  He  got  into  bed,  but,  once 
there,  realised  that  normal  sleep  was  not  for  him. 
A  wide-eyed  staring,  dulled  by  reaction,  was  the  best 
that  he  could  hope  for. 

Dawn,  planting  lean  elbows  on  the  casement,  held 
forth  another  problem  for  his  survey.  "  What  ought 
to  be  his  next  move  in  regard  to  Inez?  "  Silence 
would  be  an  affront.  He  thought  of  telephoning,  but 
he  had  never  used  a  French  telephone,  and  an  initial 
effort  would  surely  be  accompanied  by  ludicrous  mis- 
takes, peculiarly  unsuitable  to  the  present  condition 
of  affairs.  He  could  write  her  a  note, —  of  course. 
Or  he  could  send  flowers.  With  this  inspiration,  he 
sprang  out  of  bed.  It  was  the  one  perfect  thing  to 
do.  On  his  way  to  the  Ecole  he  would  stop  at  some 
florist's  and  there  select  whatever  blossoms  that 
seemed  to  commend  themselves.  One  thing  was  clear. 
This  time  it  should  not  be  the  usual  pink  roses. 
They  belonged  to  that  remote  period  of  time  before 
he  had  held  her  in  his  arms. 

This  decision  taken,  he  felt  himself,  emotionally, 
upon  his  feet  once  again.  The  remainder  of  the  day 
could  wait.  Inez  would  surely  thank  him  for  the 
flowers,  and  her  message  would  be  a  clue  for  fur- 
ther conduct. 

He  dressed  quickly  in  order  to  give  himself  time  for 
careful  choice.  It  was  well  that  he  did  so.  The 


144  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

fringe  of  the  Latin  Quarter  held,  as  he  was  now  to 
discover,  no  showy  **  establishments "  for  selling 
flowers.  There  were  many  small,  wheeled  booths, 
drawn  up  in  ranks  along  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs,  and 
presided  over  by  ancient,  hawk-like  dames  all,  appar- 
ently, of  one  family  with  the  shrew  who  had  con- 
founded him,  some  weeks  before,  in  the  square  of 
St.  Germain  des  Pres.  Frowning,  with  eyes  deter- 
minedly bent  to  the  stone  flags,  he  ran  their  shrill 
gauntlet,  and  then  crossed  on  foot  the  little  bridge  d' 
Arcole. 

Here,  hailing  a  taxi-cab,  he  was  soon  on  the  boule- 
vards, where  plate-glass  windows,  crowded  with  peer- 
ing blooms,  glowed  out  from  every  block.  Within 
the  most  pretentious  of  them  all  he  hurried.  The 
width  of  choice  bewildered  him,  until  at  length  he 
noted  a  tall  vase  filled  with  princess  lilies. 

He  drew  nearer,  looking  at  them  critically.  The 
petals  were  like  whorls  of  warm  ivory ;  and  near  the 
heart  of  each  was  a  glow  of  pink.  "  Don't  you  see 
that  we  were  grown  for  her,  and  for  this  hour  ?  "  their 
fragrance  whispered. 

"  I'll  take  those, —  all  of  them,"  said  John  ab- 
ruptly, to  the  smiling  proprietaire  who  stood  beside 
him.  "  I  want  them  put  into  a  long  box  of  very  pale 
green,  and  tied  with  a  silver  ribbon.  They  are  to  be 
sent  — "  here  he  took  out  his  card  and  wrote  the  ad- 
dress. 

"Young  Monsieur  is  an  artist, —  n'est-ce  pas?" 
the  Frenchman  ventured. 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER          145 

John,  giving  no  reply,  stalked  out,  at  which  the 
other,  chuckling,  said  to  himself,  "  And  not  so  much 
the  artist  as  the  lover.  Mon  Dicu,  if  only  once  more 
I  could  scowl  like  that ! " 

John  walked  back  to  the  Ecole.  The  day  man- 
aged to  creep  past.  With  something  of  the  same 
wonder  he  had  felt  the  night  before  on  realising  that 
the  most  terrific  inward  holocaust  could  bring  no  out- 
ward change,  he  now  smiled  grimly  to  find  himself 
drawing  straight  lines  and  calculating  "  stresses 'r 
as  if  there  were  no  Strange  Woman  in  the  world. 

On  his  way  home  he  became  conscious  of  a  grow- 
ing excitement.  Surely  a  note  would  be  lying  on  the 
corner  of  the  draughting  table.  The  last  flight  of 
steps  were  taken  two  at  a  time. 

Yes,  there  it  was !  He  had  never  seen  Inez'  hand- 
writing except  on  the  edge  of  a  menu  card,  and  then 
she  was  laughing  so  that  the  pencil  shook.  He  had 
never  considered  what  sort  of  stationery  she  might 
affect,  but,  long  before  he  touched  it,  the  plain  en- 
velope with  its  strong,  unusual  superscription,  cried 
out  that  it  had  come  from  no  hand  but  hers. 

As  he  caught  it  up,  his  knees  weakened.  He  gave 
an  impatient  exclamation  at  this  folly,  and  stiffened 
his  lips  into  a  straight  line.  Nevertheless  the  hand 
that  opened  the  letter  trembled. 

"  Dear,  dear  friend,"  it  began.  "  I  thank  you  for 
the  exquisite  flowers.  They  have  spoken  your 
thoughts.  As  I  write,  two  of  them  lie  upon  my 
breast. 


146  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I  am  leaving  Paris.  When  you  read  this  I  shall 
already  be  on  the  train,  speeding  very,  very  far 
away.  No  one,  not  even  my  servants,  know  where  I 
am  to  go;  and  letters  are  not  to  be  forwarded.  In 
one  month  I  shall  write  to  you  again.  Inez." 

He  had  read  standing.  Now  he  seated  himself  and 
read  again 

His  first  sensation  was  that  of  mere  vacuum.  The 
air  about  him  thinned  as  if  the  oxygen  were  being 
stealthily  withdrawn.  His  mind  grew  still  and  clear. 
Almost  he  seemed  to  be  looking  through  the  window  at 
himself.  With  hands  resting  lightly  on  the  two  arms 
of  his  chair,  he  sat  motionless,  waiting  for  more  poig- 
nant infelicity.  Surely  it  was  to  follow.  Pain,  in- 
dignation, anger, —  a  screaming  flock, —  should  be 
well  on  their  way. 

He  bowed  his  head,  but  nothing  happened.  What 
could  be  wrong?  In  the  few  novels  John  had  read 
the  lover,  on  receiving  such  a  shock,  invariably 
"  stared  straight  before  him  as  one  dazed,"  and  then 
exploded  into  pyrotechnics  of  despair.  Indubitably 
he  had  received  a  shock ;  and,  with  equal  certainty,  he 
was  a  lover.  What,  then,  was  the  significance  of  this 
pleasant  calm? 

The  puzzled  look  grew.  He  glanced  around,  as  if 
the  tardy  Furies  might  be  hiding  behind  furniture. 
Not  one  black  feather  showed.  The  atmosphere  re- 
mained tranquil.  Even  the  truant  oxygen  stole  back. 

Then  a  voice,  commonplace,  but  strangely  cheer- 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER          147 

ing,  lifted  somewhere  within  him.  "  She  could  not 
possibly  have  done  a  more  considerate  or  tactful 
thing,"  it  asseverated. 

John  pondered  for  a  moment.  "  By  George, —  it's 
the  truth.  She  couldn't !  "  he  cried  aloud,  whereat 
the  two  voices  joined  as  two  rills  coursing  down  a 
rain-beaten  window,  merging  into  a  congratulatory 
one. 

The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  threw  back  his 
shoulders  to  their  utmost  tension,  and  spread  his 
arms  wide.  In  the  instinctive,  physical  movement  the 
last  filament  of  mental  doubt  snapped,  and  he  realised 
his  chief  emotion  to  be  one  of  relief. 

Having  admitted,  he  now  gloated  over  the  convic- 
tion. Thank  Heaven  that  he  and  common  sense 
were  not  yet  strangers !  Perhaps  romantic  hearts 
would  scorn  him.  Inez  herself,  could  she  know,  might 
feel  it  a  subtle  affront. 

But  was  it  certain  that  she  did  not  know?  This 
thought,  striking  like  a  blunt  spear,  checked  midway 
a  second  luxurious  spread  of  muscles.  Inez  was  a 
very  witch  for  intuition.  She  could  see,  deep  down 
into  a  companion's  mind,  the  play  of  half-formed 
thoughts  and  impulses,  moving  and  standing  still  like 
silver-shadow  fishes  in  a  stream.  Of  course  she 
knew.  She  had  vanished  in  order  to  produce  this 
exact  result. 

For  some  reason  this  last  reflection  jarred.  No 
normal  man  relishes  the  thought  that  his  future  state 


148  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

of  mind  had  been  not  only  predicted,  but  used  as  casu- 
ally as  one  might  a  red  brick  in  an  architectural 
foundation.  Perhaps  she  knew  already, —  or 
thought  she  knew, —  what  she  would  write  in  the 
promised  letter  of  a  month,  and  what  would  be  its  in- 
evitable effect. 

Well,  there  was  no  use  to  trouble  himself  about 
that  now.  At  least  the  month  was  tangible, —  a 
given  fact.  It  was  not  too  long  a  time  for  the  lay- 
ing out  of  his  entire  life-to-be.  Of  course  he  should 
miss  her  horribly.  Already  he  was  missing  her,  but  it 
had  been  an  inspiration  for  her  to  leave  him  free  of 
her  bewildering  presence.  Who  could  think  sanely 
in  a  Persian  garden? 

Then  there  was  Charlie.  Without  Inez,  Paris 
would  be  as  empty  as  a  synagogue  on  Sunday.  After 
all,  it  would  be  a  rather  pleasing  sight,  that  familiar, 
grinning  "  mug "  of  Charlie  Abbey's  at  the  syna- 
gogue door ! 

Arc  lights  from  the  street  began  to  gleam  and 
sputter.  John  moved  slowly  to  the  window,  and 
stood,  staring,  upon  them.  Last  night  his  heart  and 
soul  had  been  each  a  globe  of  flame.  By  contrast  he 
now  seemed  cold,  but  it  was  only  that  the  fire  had 
eaten  deeper,  and  was  burning  with  a  steady  and  in- 
extinguishable light.  His  love  for  Inez,  startled  into 
being,  and  too  suddenly  revealed,  was,  nevertheless, 
love, —  the  sort  of  love  a  man  can  know  but  for  a 
single  woman.  He  had  not  dared  think  out,  as  yet, 
what  might  be  the  full  measure  of  her  love  for  him. 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER          149 

It  was  enough  that  she  had  told  him  that  she  needed 
him, —  that  she  had  let  him  hold  her  against  his 
breast. 

Now  he  turned  back  into  the  room, —  into  shadow. 
He  did  not  speak  aloud,  or  even  give  the  pledge  a  con- 
scious form  of  words ;  but,  as  deeply  as  it  is  given 
man  to  make  covenant  with  his  own  soul  he  swore  that, 
whatever  the  handicaps, —  Inez'  wealth,  their  dif- 
ference of  opinions,  opposition  and  prejudice  of  those 
he  loved  at  home, —  he  would  some  day  win  this 
woman  for  his  wife. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  caught  up  his  hat  and  went 
out,  searching  for  the  small  cafe  where  he  and  Inez 
had  had  their  first  tea  together.  By  good  fortune 
he  was  able  to  secure  the  same  table.  He  ate  what 
was  brought  him.  Across  the  table  he  could  almost 
see  the  vivid,  delicate,  ever-changing  face.  Yes,  he 
would  miss  her.  God !  How  much ! 

Returning  to  his  room,  his  eyes  still  soft  with  vi- 
sions, he  went  to  his  desk  and,  for  the  first  time,  wrote 
of  Madame  de  Pierrefond  to  his  mother.  In  conclud- 
ing the  letter,  he  said,  "  Madame  de  Pierrefond  has 
just  left  Paris  for  an  absence  of  at  least  a  month.  I 
shall  miss  her  companionship  greatly.  On  the  other 
hand  it  will  give  me  lots  more  time  to  be  with  Charlie. 
I  am  positively  impatient  for  the  boy  to  come  and 
know  I  shall  talk  the  poor  chap  to  death.  There  are 
so  many  questions  I  want  to  ask  him  about  home  and 
you" 

The  days  preceding  Charlie's  arrival  were  filled 


150  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

and  packed  to  overflowing  with  sunshine  and  with 
work.  If  hours  of  reaction  threatened,  John  fought 
them  back.  He  had  been  able  to  get  from  "  Ma- 
dame," his  landlady,  a  cheerful  front  room  on  the 
floor  beneath  his  own.  The  more  delicate  matter  of 
finding  a  "  cheap  "  painting-master  would  have  to 
wait. 

John  found  that  by  taking  an  early  morning  train 
on  July  fourteenth,  he  could  reach  Boulogne  in  ample 
time.  With  the  first  glimpse  of  Charlie's  red  and  ea- 
ger face,  peering  out  from  the  throng  aboard  his 
steamer's  "  lighter,"  the  universe  held  nothing  for 
John  but  thoughts  and  questionings  of  home.  On  the 
short  trip  to  Paris,  they  talked  incessantly.  If,  once 
in  a  while  the  newcomer  ventured  an  interested  glance 
out  of  the  window,  John  cruelly  caught  him  back. 

"  The  country  is  all  the  same  along  here,"  he  ex- 
postulated, laughing.  "  If  you've  seen  any,  you've 
seen  all.  There's  no  hold-up  for  you  yet.  Now  be 
a  good  boy  and  tell  me  all  over  again  that  mother  is 
looking  bully,  and  hasn't  grown  older  by  a  day." 

In  the  big  front  room  on  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard 
came  the  excitement  of  getting  Charlie's  "  boxes  " 
into  place.  After  this  he  had  to  run  upstairs  for  an 
inspection  of  John's  apartments.  "  That  blessed 
mother  of  yours  has  made  me  promise  to  take  some 
kodaks  of  your  rooms,"  he  told  John. 

As  if  two  floors  were  not  enough,  the  excited  boy 
insisted  on  going  into  Madame's  sacred  haunt,  the 
kitchen,  greeting  the  astonished  matron  with  a 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER          151 

"  Bonne  jewer  "  so  fervent,  that  her  stiff  mustachios 
trembled,  and  she  bowed  the  answering  anachronism 
without  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  it  was  well  on 
into  the  afternoon. 

In  another  hour  Charlie  was  on  terms  of  friendship 
with  the  entire  household.  He  went  about  scattering 
bright  exclamations  of  approval  as  a  canary  splashes 
water  from  its  bath. 

Next  morning  the  two  Delphinians  had  their  coffee 
and  rolls  together.  There  were  many  rolls,  a 
heaped-up  golden  dish  of  them,  and  a  glass  jar  filled 
with  honey.  John  made  no  comment  on  the  unsolici- 
ted and  disproportionate  increase,  but  it  hurt  him 
just  a  little.  "  What  was  the  difference  between  him- 
self and  Charlie?  "  he  wondered.  These  people  under 
whose  roof  he  had  lived  for  a  year  were  still 
strangers,  while,  in  a  few  hours,  Charlie  had  won 
them  for  friends.  Perhaps  it  was  because  Charlie 
was  glad  to  be  away  from  home,  while  he,  John  — 
There  was  no  need  to  finish.  The  faint  chagrin  had 
already  disappeared.  If  it  takes  little  to  sting  the 
vanity  of  man,  it  takes  still  less  to  soothe  it. 

Now  John  looked  at  his  watch,  declaring  it  time 
to  be  off.  Charlie,  who  had  been  toying  with  the 
honey-pot,  sprang  up  also.  He  wore  an  air  of  alert 
readiness.  "  Can't  shake  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  an- 
swer to  John's  expression  of  surprise.  "  I'm  going 
too." 

"  Going  where?  " 

"  To  school  with  little  Johnny." 


152  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  But  you  can't, —  you  idiot,"  laughed  John. 
"  You  haven't  entered." 

"  Neither  had  you  until  you  went  in  first.  Now 
it's  my  time.  Don't  they  teach  painting  in  that 
joint,  as  well  as  architecture?  " 

"  Why,  so  they  do,"  conceded  John.  This 
thought  had  never  entered  his  head  before.  What 
was  that  remark  of  Inez'  about  his  tendency  to  segre- 
gate the  Arts  as  one  does  church  creeds? 

"  Look  here,  old  horse,"  said  Charlie,  as  they 
started  off  together,  "  you've  got  a  sort  of  hook-worm 
stare  at  times, —  and  a  cupidy  smirk  about  the  gills. 
I  have  a  hunch  that  you're  in  love." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  John,  "  I  know  only  one  woman 
in  Paris,  and  she's  not  in  it." 

"  Some  Irish  bull,  that,"  meditated  the  younger 
man.  "  But  honest,  now.  do  you  really  mean  that 
you  know  only  one?  " 

"  One  only,"  reiterated  John.  "  And  that  is  quite 
enough.  I  didn't  come  to  Paris  to  play  around." 

"  Bet  that  one's  a  pippin,"  remarked  Charlie,  hope- 
fully. 

John  disdained  reply. 

They  walked  in  brisk  silence  for  a  little,  then 
Charlie,  in  a  sort  of  rhythmic  croon,  began  to  solilo- 
quise. 

"  He's  been  in  gay  Paree  a  whole  long  year,  and 
knows  but  one  fair  dame,  who  is  not  in  it.  One 
year,  and  one  fair  dame.  There's  safety  in  a  multi- 
tude we're  told,  yet  Johnny  knows  but  one,  and  she's 


JOHN  RECEIVES  A  LETTER          153 

enough, —  oh,  quite, —  some  quite, —  enough.  I  won- 
der what's  the  answer?  " 

He  paused.  No  answer  being  vouchsafed,  he  now 
began  to  whistle,  "  There's  only  one  girl  in  the  world 
for  me." 

John  stood  it  just  three  minutes. 

"  Now,  kid, —  you  listen  here,"  he  burst  out,  turn- 
ing a  face  flushed  with  self-consciousness  and 
laughter.  "  I  guess  we'd  better  settle  this  and  have 
it  over.  This  friend  of  mine, —  friend,"  he  repeated 
meaningly,  "  is  not  in  the  girl  or  pippin  class  at  all. 
I  don't  want  her  joked  about.  Get  that?  " 

Charlie  looked  sulky,  and  flinging  his  head  away, 
muttered  an  unintelligible  apology. 

"  She  is  an  American, —  a  widow,"  John  went  on, 
"  and  has  both  position  and  wealth, —  worse  luck !  " 
The  last  two  words  were  under  his  breath.  "  Her 
name  is  Madame  de  Pierrefond." 

Charlie's  sulks  vanished.  "  Madame  de  Pierre- 
fond  !  "  he  echoed.  "  I  say,  John,  that's  some  high- 
sounding  title!  Has  she  a  real  title?  " 

"  I  believe  her  husband  was  some  sort  of  noble- 
man," admitted  John,  trying  not  to  wince. 

"  Gee !     Do  you  s'pose  I'll  ever  get  a  peek  at  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  She  knows  all  about  you  now. 
When  she  gets  back  home  I'm  to  take  you  to  call." 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  whispered 
Charlie,  in  an  awe-struck  tone.  The  glamour  of 
high-life  dazzled  him. 

"  I'm  on,"  he  sighed,  after  a  chastened  interval. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  It's  Charlie-on-the-door-mat  from  now  to  never- 
more." 

If  John  had  pictured  himself  beforehand,  in  the 
role  of  guide,  philosopher  and  friend  to  a  Western 
tenderfoot,  he  soon  found  that  the  position  threat- 
ened to  be  reversed.  Where,  in  a  year,  he  had  formed 
among  his  fellow-workers  not  a  single  intimate, 
Charlie,  in  three  days'  time,  was  centring  a  group. 
His  gaiety  was  irresistible.  He  saw  no  faults  in  any- 
thing, and  was  prepared  to  love  everybody.  John 
watched  him  with  a  queer  mingling  of  pride  and  envy. 
There  were  times  when  he  felt  himself  old, — "  stiff," 
as  Charlie,  more  than  once,  had  frankly  called  him, 
—  a  self-centred  prig  whom  the  other  fellows  had 
done  well  to  ignore. 

More  from  a  sense  of  responsibility  than  any  desire 
to  participate,  he  joined  Charlie  on  several  of  the 
"  little  sprees  "  that  were  beginning  to  be  of  nightly 
occurrence.  Already  the  boy  was  one  of  a  congenial 
"  bunch,"  most  of  them  American  students,  boys  and 
girls,  in  their  teens  or  very  early  twenties,  and  all, 
as  far  as  John  could  judge,  the  same  frank,  joyous, 
clean-minded  young  animals  as  could  be  found  in  any 
Western  village. 

Having  thus  investigated,  John  gave  himself  over 
to  thoughts  of  Inez  and  her  forthcoming  letter. 


CHAPTER  XII 
ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY 

THE  post  that  brought  it  was  an  early  one.  Felice 
brought  it  up  on  the  breakfast  tray.  The  two  young 
men  were  already  seated.  John,  with  the  prehensile 
eye  of  the  lover  saw  it  first,  reached  out,  and  slipped 
it  hastily  into  an  inner  pocket.  He  hoped  devoutly 
that  Charlie  had  not  taken  notice,  but  a  glance  at  the 
youth's  too  innocent  countenance  proclaimed,  louder 
than  any  words,  the  undesired  fact.  But  at  least  the 
observer  was  considerate  and,  true  to  his  door-mat 
policy,  refrained  from  comment. 

All  the  forenoon  John  worked,  the  letter  still  un- 
opened in  his  pocket.  The  post-mark  was  Berlin. 
Why,  of  all  places,  should  she  have  chosen  this  scene 
of  her  unhappy  marriage?  He  could  not  fathom  an 
impulse  so  different  from  his  own,  yet  he  knew  that 
she  had  done  it  only  after  deliberate  thought. 
What  its  influence  had  been  the  letter  would  reveal. 
Somehow,  with  the  passing  of  the  hours,  John  felt  an 
increasing  dread  of  opening  it.  He  grew  more  and 
more  restive.  Concentration  upon  his  given  task  be- 
came an  impossibility.  A  few  moments  before  the 
luncheon  hour  he  slipped  away.  He  could  not  meet, 
again,  the  simulated  unconcern  in  Charlie's  eyes. 

A  sudden  longing  came  to  be  off  to  himself, — 

among  green  fields.     They  would  serve  as  a  sort  of 

155 


156  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

antidote  to  Berlin.  The  vision  of  little  Robinson 
flashed  into  his  mind.  Surely  that,  of  all  places, 
would  be  the  most  appropriate  for  opening  her  let- 
ter. On  an  ordinary  week-da}'  like  this  the  small  re- 
sort would  be  practically  empty.  • 

Making  for  the  square  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres  he 
was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  car  for  Sceaux  just 
on  the  point  of  starting.  His  ancient  enemy,  the 
flower-seller,  spying  him  in  flight,  snapped  derision 
both  with  her  fingers  and  her  beady  eyes,  but  John 
did  not  even  see  her. 

Sceaux  was,  as  usual,  a  busy,  lived-in  town ;  but 
on  the  approach,  by  foot,  to  Robinson,  there  fell  a 
blight  of  emptiness  akin  to  desolation.  The  leaves 
of  the  huge  chestnut  trees  were  beginning  already  to 
show  the  approach  of  autumn.  Many  were  yellow, 
and  curled  about  the  edges.  Up  in  the  old  tree  he 
found  the  platform  strewn  with  them,  and  had  to 
brush  away  a  protesting  armful  to  make  place  for 
himself  upon  the  wooden  bench.  Here  in  shadow  the 
air  held  an  acrid  odour  of  dissolution.  He  wished 
that  he  had  chosen  some  other  and  more  genial  spot. 
But  to  return  now,  without  having  read,  would  be 
childish.  With  a  sigh  he  drew  forth  the  envelope, 
staring  long  at  the  strong,  clear  handwriting,  the 
German  stamp  and  the  ornate  postmark,  and  finally, 
after  an  impatient  j  og  to  his  will-power,  opened  it. 

The  note  was  short.  Almost  it  seemed  a  travesty 
to  have  brought  the  few  lines  so  far.  There  was  no 
beginning  and  no  signature. 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY      157 

"  On  the  first  Sunday  in  September,  at  three  in  the 
afternoon,  I  shall  be  at  the  foot  of  the  Winged  Vic- 
tory. If  you  do  not  come,  I  shall  understand." 

He  returned  it  carefully  to  the  envelope.  All  at 
once  he  felt  both  satisfied  and  strong.  How  little 
her  words  had  said,  and  yet  how  very  much!  In 
modern  American  parlance  it  was  "  up  to  him,"  just 
as  it  should  be.  There  was  no  room  left  even  for  self~ 
debate.  That,  too,  was  as  it  should  be.  Of  course 
he  would  be  there.  His  great  resolve,  taken  even  be- 
fore her  first  letter  came,  led  forth,  like  a  Roman  road. 
Now,  more  than  ever  he  assured  himself  that  there 
need  be  no  by-paths,  no  ambuscades  of  doubt. 
They  could  face  each  other  squarely,  soul  to  soul,  on 
the  broad  highway  of  life,  suiting  their  steps  one  to 
the  other. 

In  the  ensuing  weeks  John,  had  he  been  self-ana- 
lytical, might  well  have  marvelled  at  the  calm  and 
security  of  his  heart.  Inez  was  not  yet  won.  He 
foresaw  obstacles  other  than  the  tangible  ones  al- 
ready stated.  It  would  take  devotion,  tenderness, 
logic,  and,  perhaps,  years  to  turn  her  away  from  the 
pernicious  doctrines  which,  in  her  loneliness,  she  had 
acquired. 

John  had  had  practically  no  experience  with 
women.  He  was  as  far  as  possible  removed  from 
the  type  of  male  braggart  who  thinks  each  woman 
vincible  to  his  spell ;  and  yet  here  he  was,  not  only 
daring  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  most  brilliant  and  beau- 
tiful of  them  all,  but  down  in  his  nature,  deeply, 


158  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

contentedly,  integrally  sure  that  she  was  some  day 
to  be  his  wife. 

Long  before  three  o'clock,  when  the  first  Sunday 
in  September  came  around,  he  was  at  the  Louvre, 
taking  his  place  on  the  broad  landing  at  the  top  of 
the  main  inner  stairway,  which,  spreading  to  right 
and  left,  lies  as  a  threshold  to  the  Victory. 

Though  the  great  entrance  corridor  was  far,  he 
saw  Inez  as  she  entered  it, —  a  slim,  swaying,  grey- 
clad  figure  that  walked  slowly,  with  down-bent  head 
and  empty  hands.  Drawing  back  into  the  shadow 
of  the  Charioteer,  he  watched  her,  feeding  his  hun- 
gry eyes  upon  her  loveliness. 

She  advanced  without  haste,  not  once  raising  her 
lowered  lids.  Even  at  a  distance  he  could  see  that 
her  face  was  pale.  Her  whole  figure  had  a  tense, 
still  look.  She  might,  John  thought,  have  been  a 
hushed  novitiate  nearing  the  altar  of  her  final  con- 
secration, or  —  and  here  his  heart  reeled  —  a  bride, 
swept  on  a  great,  slow-moving  tide  of  happiness, 
toward  her  chosen  mate. 

As  in  a  reverie  she  mounted  the  stairway,  white 
step  on  step.  John's  rapture  almost  hurt  him. 
Was  there  ever  a  woman  quite  so  exquisitely  poised 
before!  He  thought  of  young  poplars  by  a  quiet 
stream.  As  she  reached  the  landing  he  met  her, 
holding  out  both  his  hands.  She  laid  her  own  in 
them,  and,  for  a  long  moment,  they  looked  into  one 
Another's  eyes. 

Still,  without  speaking,  they  moved  toward  the  lit- 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY      159 

tie  red  velvet  sofa  where  they  had  sat  so  many  weeks 
before.  John  kept  one  of  the  hands  in  his.  Now 
turning  it  palm-upward  he  raised  it  gently,  press- 
ing his  lips  into  the  little  warm  nest  of  pink  that 
the  grey  glove  had  left  bare. 

At  this  she  smiled.  "  Why  did  you  come,  my 
Jean?" 

He,  with  grave,  steadfast  eyes  on  hers,  answered 
gravely,  "  Because  I  love  you  and  shall  win  you  for 
my  wife." 

She  turned  her  face,  drawing  in  a  long  breath. 
He  waited  without  speaking. 

"  Yes-s, —  it  is  true.  You  love  me,"  she  breathed, 
at  last. 

John  steadied  himself.  "  I  do.  Neither  of  us 
can  realise  how  much, —  just  yet,"  he  told  her. 
Then,  feeling  it  should  be  said  at  once,  went  on, 
"  Of  course, —  as  you  know, —  I  have  very  little  to 
offer.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  become  my  wife  this 
very  day, —  which  is  the  thing  my  soul  cries  out  for. 
I  shall  have  to  make  some  sort  of  professional  head- 
way,—  get  on  my  feet  financially,  before  — " 

She  lifted  her  head  so  quickly  that  he  paused. 
"  You  mean, —  monee  ?  "  she  questioned. 

Seeing  the  answer  in  his  face  she  gave  a  gesture 
of  disdain.  "  Ouf !  Monee  in  itself  is  nussing.  I 
'ave  it, —  yes  —  'caps." 

Her  tone  and  manner  would  seem  to  relegate  this 
mainspring  of  existence  to  the  negligible  status  of 
a  fallen  leaf.  Through  his  amused  tenderness  John 


160  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

was  conscious  of  noting  how,  in  these  weeks  of  ab- 
sence, her  English  had  become  newly  blurred. 

"  For  your  sake  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  replied, 
"  but  the  fact  that  you  are  well  off  can  have  nothing 
to  do  with  me." 

Inez  frowned  "  'Ow, —  nussing  to  do  wid  you?  " 
she  demanded. 

"  Why,"  stammered  John,  a  little  embarrassed  be- 
fore her  challenging  look,  "  it's  so  fundamental  that 
I  shouldn't  think  you'd  need  me  to  explain.  If  you 
have  money,  it  is  yours.  That  means  it  isn't  mine. 
Surely  you  must  see  that." 

The  frown  flashed  into  relief.  '*  Oui, —  yes-s.  I 
pairceive.  'Ow  stupid !  Then, —  I  weel  geeve  it  all 
to  you,  my  Jean." 

John  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  wipe  his 
eyes.  "  You  blessed,  unworldly  darling ! "  he  cried 
out,  restraining  with  difficulty  his  desire  to  catch  her 
to  his  breast.  "  I  believe  you  mean  it  honestly, — 
but  that  is  something  I  could  not  accept, —  least  of 
all  from  the  woman  who  is  to  become  my  wife." 

Inez,  with  an  impatient  twist  of  her  whole  flexible 
body,  drew  back  from  him.  Her  face  darkened,  but 
her  eyes  gleamed  ominously. 

"  That  is  the  speech  of  out-worn  traditions,"  she 
accused.  "  It  comes  not  from  the  real  mind  of  you. 
Soon  you  shall  begin  to  make  the, —  what  do  you 
say?  —  the  —  the  distinguishment,  for  yo'self. 
You  would  not  hesitate  to  share  wid  de  good  com- 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY      161 

rade, —  no !  —  but  when  it  comes  to  sharing  wid  yo' 
wife!  "  She  paused,  breathless  with  a  sense  of  cli- 
max. 

But  her  last  word,  outflung  like  a  torch,  blinded 
her  companion  to  all  else. 

"  Oh,  Inez !  "  he  cried,  his  voice  breaking.  "  Say 
it  again.  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  spoken  it." 

"Spoken  what?"  stared  Inez,  in  genuine  amaze- 
ment. 

"  That  sweetest,  most  sacred  word  in  all  our  lan- 
guage,—  the  word, —  wife!  "  He  leaned  forward, 
caught  up  both  her  hands,  and  began  kissing  them 
impartially. 

The  eyes  that  watched  him  slowly  cleared  into  full 
apprehension  of  his  thought.  She  gave  a  little 
gasp,  then  bit  her  lips,  as  if  to  restrain  impetuous 
speech.  Now  she  looked  up,  and  around  her. 

"  Be  more  composed,  my  Jean,"  she  murmured, 
stifling  a  nervous  laugh.  "  Many  peoples  are  en- 
joying the  watch  of  us." 

He  too  glanced  up,  and  then  flushed  angrily. 

Quite  a  group  surrounded  them  —  though  at  a 
decorous  distance.  Some  stared  in  frank  amuse- 
ment ;  others,  more  considerate,  sent  covert  smiles 
over  half-turned  shoulders.  John,  with  a  smothered 
oath,  sprang  up. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  he  said  in  a  voice  unnecessarily 
loud  and  commanding,  "  let  us  leave  this  menagerie 
of  apes,  and  go  home." 


162  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

He  jerked,  rather  than  drew,  one  grey-gloved 
hand  through  his  arm,  and  stalked  in  the  direction 
of  the  stairway. 

Inez,  a  curved  mass  of  suppressed  laughter,  could 
scarcely  keep  pace  with  him. 

"  Stop  giggling !  "  he  ordered.  "  I  want  those 
fools  to  think  we  are  already  married." 

"  And  'ave  you,  my  poor  Jean,"  she  asked,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak  intelligibly,  "  any  'ope  that  you 
so  deceive  those  fools? "  Her  eyes  sparkled  and 
danced  with  the  delight  of  teasing  him. 

"  Why  not?  "  he  gave  a  brusque  reply.  John  did 
not  enjoy  being  laughed  at. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  returned  the 
young  man  stiffly.  "  When  once  you  are  my 
wife  — " 

"  Well,  well,"  she  broke  in,  "  we  cannot  argue  a 
question  so  intimate  upon  de  Louvre  stairs.  As  you 
said,  we  shall  now  go  'ome.  Home"  she  repeated 
softly,  and  with  a  more  careful  enunciation,  seeing 
that  he  hesitated.  "  Will  you  not  come  home  with 
me,  my  Jean?  " 

No  surly  mood  could  last  beside  a  bubbling  spring 
of  joy.  Before  the  taxi-cab  had  turned  its  first  cor- 
ner, John's  offended  dignity  was  merged  in  pure 
bliss. 

Within  the  beautiful  and  well-remembered  rooms 
it  flared  into  excitement.  Wheeling  to  his  compan- 
ion he  strained  her  against  his  heart,  kissing  her 
hair,  her  eyelids,  and,  for  the  first  time,  her  mouth. 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY      163 

She  yielded,  shivering,  but  now  the  tremor  was  of 
answering  ecstasy. 

"  I  can't  believe  it  yet, —  it's  all  too  wonderful !  " 
John  faltered,  smothering  the  words  against  her  lips. 

"  I'm  drunk, —  dizzy, —  with  happiness.  Inez, — 
you  have  never  yet  said  that  you  love  me !  " 

"  I  —  I  —  love  you,  Jean,"  she  panted,  feebly  at- 
tempting escape,  "  but  you  do  not  allow  me  the 
breathe  to  say  annysing." 

"And  you  have  promised, —  that  just  as  soon  as 
I  make  good,  you'll  marry  me." 

"  Go  'way !  "  cried  Inez,  fighting  him  off  in  a  laugh- 
ing pretence  of  fear.  "  I  have  not  say  so.  I  do  not 
care  for  hand-cuffs.  Now  you  must  let  me  get  the 
breathe." 

"  Then  say  so  now.  Promise  me  this  minute, — 
then  you  shall  breathe." 

"  First  I  shall  breathe,"  asserted  Inez,  in  bright 
defiance. 

He  made  a  determined  stride,  but  she  eluded  him, 
and  before  he  could  prevent,  had  seated  herself  at 
the  piano. 

He  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders  as  if  to  drag 
her  back. 

"  Now,  Jean,"  she  coaxed,  "  go  over  to  your  leetle 
nook  and  sit  down,  like  a  good  boy.  I  will  sing." 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  want  you  to  sing.  It  keeps 
you  too  far  away." 

"  It  is  a  love-song  I  will  sing  my  Jean,"  she  mur- 
mured. All  the  witchery  and  compelling  power  of 


164  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

all  her  sex  was  vibrant  in  the  low,  rich  voice,  and  in 
the  one  SAvift,  upAvard  glance  she  sent  him. 

John  knew  that  he  was  vanquished.  "  Just  an- 
other kiss,"  he  pleaded,  "  just  one,  and  I'll  go." 

"Bandit!  You  said  just  one,"  Inez  protested 
indignantly  when,  at  last,  she  was  able  to  free  herself. 
"  That  Avas  a  whole  constellation !  A  constellation 
of  shooting-stars  at  zat.  Now  go  at  once, —  naugh- 
tee!" 

John  obediently  turned  away.  Inez  began  the 
first  notes  of  an  old  ballad,  vaguely  familiar.  Be- 
fore his  allotted  chair,  John  paused.  There  was  no 
use  trying  to  sit  still.  Every  nerve  and  fibre  of  his 
body  tingled. 

The  song  grew  more  distinct. 

"  Look  here,  Inez,"  he  interrupted  boldly,  "  that 
isn't  any  love-song.  It's  a  dirge." 

Inez  and  the  piano-stool  whirled  as  one  unit.  "  I 
am  surprise  at  you,  Meester  'Emingway.  'Ave  you 
no  temperament  at  all?  It  is  fitting  for  great  hap- 
piness to  'ave  the  minor  strain  along  wid  it.  It  is 
for  that  I  sing  *  Loch  Lomond.' ' 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  John  in  the  tone  one  invariably 
uses  when  one  is  not,  "  but  I  don't  care  for  just  that 
sort  of  minor.  Don't  you  happen  to  know  '  Believe 
Me  if  All  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  '?  " 

"  Yes,  I  happen,"  answered  the  singer,  struggling 
heroically  to  preserve  her  gravity.  "  Also  I  know 
*  Darby  and  Joan,'  and  that  chef-d'oeuvre,  '  Silver 
Threads  among  de  GolV  But  never  mind!  You 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  VICTORY      165 

'ave  destroy  my  desire  to  sing."  At  these  words 
she  sprang  up,  making  toward  the  nearest  electric 
bell.  "  All  now  that  I  wish,  is  tea." 

"  Suits  me,"  said  John.  "  I'm  radiating  rapture 
as  a  hot  water  bottle  does  heat.  So  long  as  I  can 
look  at  you,  I  don't  care  what  else  is  taking  place." 

They  played  "  tea-party "  like  two  happy  chil- 
dren. Later  on  the  hostess  informed  him  that  he 
was  to  stop  for  dinner.  In  acceding  John  suggested 
returning  to  his  rooms  for  a  change  into  more  con- 
ventional garments. 

"  No,"  Inez  interposed.  "  There  will  be  only  our 
two  selves,  and  I  like  the  grey  clothes  of  you  now, 
particularly  " —  here  the  mischievous  gleam  slid  into 
place  — "  wid  a  pink  rose  in  de  button-'ole." 

Pausing  to  regard,  intently,  the  crushed  pink 
blur  that  now  adorned  it,  she  inquired  innocently, 
"  now  what  could  have  so  sadly  demolish  de  little  pink 
rose  of  to-day?  "  After  an  interval  packed  close 
with  rainbow-stuff  not  easily  described,  Inez  drew 
away,  and  continued,  demurely,  "  But  even  if  you  do 
not,  I  wish  to  dress  for  dinner.  I  'ave  a  new  gown. 
It  is  deeferent  from  my  others,  an'  I  think,  beautiful. 
I  wish  you  to  see  it  first  of  any.  Will  you  remain 
here  while  I  change?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  to  risk  it,"  he  told  her  gravely, 
though  his  eyes,  too,  were  beginning  to  twinkle. 
"  One  of  these  emotional  brain-storms  might  take  me 
in  the  middle  of  your  toilet,  and  I  should  burst  in  all 
your  doors." 


166  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Mon  dieu! "  cried  Inez,  with  a  tiny  scream. 
"  An'  think  of  the  scandal.  My  maid,  Celeste, — 
she  was  born  wid  no  morals,  an'  de  'ole  has  got 
deeper  every  day, —  yet  she  is  so  easily  shock!  Go 
quick,  my  Jean.  I  'ave  begun  to  tremble.  But 
where  at  will  you  go  ?  " 

"Not  far,"  he  laughed.  "It  doesn't  matter 
where.  I  shall  see  nothing  but  your  face, —  feel 
nothing  but  these  dear  lips  that  starve  me  even  while 
they  satisfy." 

"  You  —  you  —  make  me  dizzy  also,  wid  such 
strong  kisses,"  Inez  said,  hysterically,  as,  at  last,  he 
let  her  go.  "  I  think  you  had  better  walk  to  some 
distance,  Jean,  while  I  make  ready  for  our  little 
feast." 

"  All  right,"  laughed  John.  There  was  a  light  of 
mastery  in  his  eyes.  "  Is  the  Garden  of  the  Tuileries 
far  enough?  " 

She  nodded,  and  as,  once  more,  he  stretched  out 
longing  arms,  fled  through  the  long  rooms  and  shut 
a  door. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS 

RETURNING,  an  hour  later,  with  a  second  sheaf  of 
princess  lilies  and,  in  his  buttonhole  a  fresh  cluster 
of  pink  roses,  the  door  was  opened  to  John's  knock 
by  Fran9ois,  the  footman,  in  full  livery.  He  pre- 
sented the  same  wooden  countenance  which,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  American's  first  call,  had  unsuccess- 
fully concealed  contempt.  Now,  to  the  very  angles 
of  his  elbows  there  was  servility,  concession,  defer- 
ence. Each  servant  in  a  household  is  an  emotional 
thermometer,  registering,  with  magic  swiftness,  the 
varying  favours  of  the  ruling  power. 

Within  the  closed  door  Fra^ois  even  went  so  far 
as  to  clear  his  throat,  a  demonstration  so  unusual 
that  John  turned  to  look  at  him.  A  hand,  depre- 
cating, tentative,  was  stretched  forth  in  the  direction 
of  the  box  of  flowers. 

"  Thank  you.  I'll  carry  them  up  myself,"  said 
John,  and  assuaged  the  slight  by  a  bestowal  of  his 
straw  hat.  Fra^ois  received  it  as  a  vessel  of  holy 
water. 

Mounting  the  long,  polished  stairway,  John's  lips 
began  to  twitch.  Evidently  the  servants  were  "  on." 
The  thought  was  far  from  displeasing.  But  there 

were  other  thoughts  behind  the  visitor's  smile.     In 

167 


168  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

the  afternoon  a  maid  had  been  in  attendance  upon 
the  door.  The  sudden  exchange  to  Fra^ois,  in 
what  appeared  a  brand  new  uniform,  betokened  a 
deliberate  access  of  ceremony.  Inez  was  to  dazzle 
him  in  more  ways  than  a  new  gown. 

Well,  he  would  take  her  cue.  During  the  after- 
noon they  had  been  merely  human  lovers.  To-night, 
as  hostess,  she  was  to  be  in  the  role  of  grande  dame. 
He  knew  that  she  would  do  it  beautifully,  as  she  did 
all  else.  Now  that  essentials  were  secure,  it  would  be 
rather  a  lark  to  meet  her  half  way. 

He  straightened  his  shoulders  and  wished  that  he 
had  insisted  on  wearing  dinner  clothes.  The  large 
box,  too,  offered  impediment  to  dignity.  A  loaded 
pack-horse  could  scarcely  curvet  like  a  racer. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  an  inspiration  came.  He 
would  leave  the  box  in  the  hall.  This  done,  he  threw 
his  head  still  higher,  and,  assuming  the  air  of  a  con- 
queror, walked  into  the  room. 

Inez,  from  the  far  end,  sped  to  welcome  him.  At 
sight  of  her,  his  just-acquired  part  split  like  an  over- 
ripe pod,  revealing,  in  an  iridescent  instant,  the 
amazed  and  delighted  man.  He  was  yet  to  learn  of 
all  the  subtleties  concealed  in  the  person  of  one 
Strange  Woman. 

She  came,  noiselessly  as  moonlight  sweeping  across 
a  field  of  open  primroses.  She  was  gowned,  from 
shoulders  to  small  pointed  toes,  in  a  luminous,  pale 
yellow.  Later  on  he  accused  her  of  having  phos- 
phorus in  the  folds.  » 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  169 

Around  her  slender  throat  was  a  string  of  topazes, 
each  separated  by  a  diamond,  and  in  her  hair  two 
yellow  butterflies  close  together,  perched  as  if  just 
alighted  on  a  flower. 

The  very  mischief  in  her  eyes  was  golden.  The 
rich,  yet  tender  colouring  made  her  face,  usually 
pale,  glow  like  some  tropic  fruit  steeped  through 
with  sunshine. 

"You, —  you  witch!"  he  managed  to  get  out,  at 
last. 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond, —  at  your  sairvice,"  she 
curtseyed,  mockingly. 

Routed  by  beauty,  the  young  man  turned  away, 
and  went  meekly  back  into  the  hall  to  fetch  his  flow- 
ers. 

"  Here  are  some  more  of  those  same  lilies,"  he  said, 
in  a  chastened  voice,  placing  the  unopened  box  upon 
the  piano.  "  I'm  afraid  they  are  not  much  of  a 
match  for  that  star-coloured  gown." 

"  Ah,  but  they  are  in  themselves  so  very  lovelee ! " 
she  exclaimed,  when  the  lid  at  last  uncovered  them. 
**  Bring  to  me,  please,  that  old  fat  Chinese  jar  of 
bronze.  In  it  they  will  be  mos'  artistique." 

He  watched  her  as  she  arranged  them.  In  the 
spring  salon  had  been  more  than  one  picture  of  a 
beautiful  woman  bending  above  flowers.  Not  one 
among  them,  John  now  thought,  was  fit  to  serve  as 
a  footstool  to  the  warm,  living,  animated  vision  here. 

"  Votta!  "  she  cried,  as  the  final  whorl  of  petals 
nodded  into  place.  "  It  is  the  creation,  yes !  Now, 


170  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

my  Jean,  leeft  up  and  place  on  the  piano,  here  near 
the  end,  so  we  can  view  from  every  point." 

"  Who  would  waste  time  looking  at  earth-grown 
flowers  with  you  in  the  room  ?  "  John  declaimed,  gal- 
lantly. He  was  beginning  to  feel  himself  again. 

"  So  you  like  it, —  the  gown  ?  "  she  murmured, 
looking  up  with  eyes  in  which  mischief,  and  a  little 
touch  of  shyness  blent. 

John  took  in  a  long  breath.  "  Yes,  I  like  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  believe  it  was  spun  in  some  moon-garden, 
and  you  lured  it  down." 

"  Pouf !  "  she  laughed.  "  I  would  not  'ave  it.  I 
like  not  the  extinct  planet.  For  me,  it  mus'  be  sum- 
sing  that  glows  and  burns.  Rather  would  I  wear  a 
garment  of  deep  orange-coloured  poppies,  grown  in 
the  fire  of  Mars." 

John  did  not  echo  her  laughter.  "  Well,"  he  said, 
seriously,  "  if  you  ever  got  within  sight  of  Mars, 
you  could  have  all  he's  got.  No  one  could  resist 
you." 

She  was  quick  to  note  the  slight  despondency  in 
his  tone. 

"  You  are  'ongree !  "  she  now  declared.  "  Such 
silly  talk  means  always  that  a  man  is  'ongree.  We 
shall  'ave  diner  at  the  once." 

She  hurried  across  the  room  to  an  electric  bell. 
John,  as  she  passed,  made  a  movement  as  though  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  but  apparently  she  did  not  see. 

"  Do  you  know,  Inez,"  he  began,  when  she  had 
pushed  the  bell  and  remained  standing  in  an  attitude 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  171 

of  expectancy  beside  it,  "  sometimes  it  comes  over  me 
all  in  a  heap,  how  incredible, —  how  almost  impossi- 
ble it  is  that  you  should  really  care  for  a  common- 
place, humdrum  fellow  like  — " 

Inez  emitted  a  silvery  shriek.  "  Oh,  but  he  is 
veree,  v eree  'ongree,  my  poor  Jean !  There  is  Fran- 
£ois  at  the  door.  You  do  well  to  come  queeck." 

He  followed  her,  but  there  was  no  spring  or  joy  in 
his  measured  steps.  Beside  the  table  she  paused, 
giving  a  pretty  gesture  that  held  both  pleading  and 
a  tinge  of  deprecation. 

"  It  is  fanciful,  n'est-ce  pas?  Perhaps  you  think, 
too  fanciful.  But  when  I  planned  our  first  diner  I 
'ad  the  —  the  —  what  is  that  fonnee  American  word 
you  teach  me?  —  oh,  yes,  the  'unch  —  I  'ad  the 
'unch,  to  make  it,  too,  of  golden  hue.  You  do  not 
hate  it,  no  ?  " 

John,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  the  exquisite  table, 
answered  honestly,  "  It  is  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever 
saw, —  except  just  one." 

"And  that  just  one  is — me! "  laughed  Inez, 
drawing  her  shoulders  together  like  a  gleeful  school- 
girl. 

The  round  table  was  spread  with  old,  ecru  Span- 
ish lace.  In  the  centre  stood  a  wide,  flat  dish  of 
water  lying  above  yellow  pebbles.  About  the  edges 
grew  clumps  of  primrose-coloured  irises,  and  through 
the  still  water  swam  and  curved  a  school  of  pigmy 
Japanese  gold-fish,  each  dragging  its  long,  unneces- 
sary three  tails. 


172  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Above  the  table,  and  below  the  crystal  chandelier, 
translucent,  yellow  butterflies  swarmed.  One  could 
almost  see  them  flutter,  and  only  the  closest  scrutiny 
revealed  the  hair-like  threads  of  golden  wire.  The 
porcelain  was  of  white  and  gold,  and  the  serviettes 
bordered  deeply  with  Spanish  lace. 

All  the  wines  served  were  apparently  of  liquid  to- 
paz ;  and  even  the  courses  of  food,  from  the  initial 
grapefruit  heaped  with  white  cherries  and  little 
cubes  of  pineapple,  down  to  the  ices  moulded  like  or- 
anges and  having  natural  stems  and  sprigs  of  foli- 
age, conserved,  in  some  unexpected  and  always  beau- 
tiful way,  the  dominant  aureate  tone. 

All  through  that  wonderful  evening  John's  soul 
was  played  upon  by  alternating  currents  of  exhilara- 
tion and  despair.  At  times,  staring  at  Inez  under 
bent  brows  he  would  feel,  with  new  poignancy,  how 
hopeless  it  was  for  any  one  man  to  attempt  posses- 
sion, utterly,  of  all  moods,  and  thoughts  and  tender- 
nesses of  a  rainbow-thing  like  this.  She  was  indeed 
made  up  of  "  spirit  and  fire  and  dew."  As  well 
might  one  try  to  grasp  a  perfume! 

Then  instantly,  rushing  into  the  chill  vacuum  of 
self-mistrust,  would  come  the  sirocco  of  masculine 
possession  and  he  would  cry, —  now  audibly  to  her, 
again  more  fiercely  to  himself,  "  No,  you  have 
granted  me  the  right  to  win  you.  I'll  do  it,  and 
hold  you,  too,  though  all  the  devils  in  hell  swarm  up- 
ward, and  the  stars  fall,  blocking  my  path  to  you." 

It  was  not  until  he  had  reached  the  quiet  of  his 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  173 

rooms,  and  had  locked  the  door  against  intrusion 
from  the  all-too-sociable  Charlie,  that  he  realised  how 
little  Inez  had  bound  herself.  Beyond  admitting  the 
supreme  and  glorious  fact  of  loving  him,  she  had 
promised  nothing.  Whenever  he  urged  anything  re- 
sembling a  practical  discussion  of  their  future,  she 
would  find  some  means  of  escape,  dancing  into  new 
topics  as  a  wayward  child,  darting  suddenly  from 
the  highroad,  plunges  into  a  field  of  flowers.  Here, 
looking  back  at  him  she  would  beckon,  at  which  the 
young  man,  already  half-dazed  with  rapture,  lost  no 
time  in  following. 

Once,  literally  forcing  her  to  listen,  he  asked  per- 
mission to  write  of  their  engagement  to  his  mother. 
He  got  no  further  than  the  word. 

"  Engage-ment !  Engagement !  "  she  mimicked. 
"  That  is  so  stupid  a  term,  my  Jean.  One  engages 
a  domestiqu-e,  n'est-ce  pas?  A  chauffeur,  if  you  like, 
or  even  an  elderly  companion.  One  does  not  engage 
a  —  a  —  butterfly !  "  Here  she  nodded  airily  until 
the  two  perched  on  her  head  whirled  into  a  tarantelle. 

"  But  you're  not  a  butterfly,"  protested  John, 
clinging  desperately  to  his  theme.  "  You're  the 
most  intelligent  woman  on  this  earth,  and  we  both 
know  it.  Now  you  are  deliberately  playing  with  me. 
Why,"  he  urged,  lowering  his  voice  to  pleading, 
"  are  you  unwilling  to  discuss  the  things  you  know 
are  so  close  to  my  heart?  " 

For  answer,  she  nestled  against  him,  and  then, 
after  an  interval,  whispered,  "  Pairehaps  that  is  just 


174  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

the  why.  I  am  jealous.  I  wish  not  anything  but 
me, —  just  me, —  to  be  near  your  heart  this  night." 

This,  very  naturally,  put  an  end  to  the  discus- 
sion. John  was  defeated.  He  was  always  being  de- 
feated, and  each  rout  brought  more  ecstasy  than  the 
last.  The  male  in  him  sounded  a  faint  alarm,  but 
Inez  soon  smothered  the  cry  in  rose-leaves.  After 
all,  as  she  had  said,  it  was  their  first  evening  to- 
gether as  acknowledged  lovers. 

But  here  in  his  rooms,  half  a  city  removed  from 
the  enchantress,  the  puzzled  thoughts  continued  to 
return.  Why  should  she  always  shrink  before  such 
words  as  marriage,  wifehood,  betrothal?  She  did  not 
even  wish  him  to  write  home  of  it.  In  agreeing  that, 
next  evening,  he  bring  his  friend  "  Sharlie  "  for  a 
visit,  she  had  said,  laughingly,  "  But  I  prefer  that 
first  you  do  not  confide  in  him.  He  will  know  in 
good  time." 

It  was  with  some  trepidation,  next  morning  at 
breakfast,  that  John  delivered  the  gracious  invita- 
tion. He  was  afraid  that  at  least  one  fibre  of  his 
pride  and  happiness  would  show  through  the  spoken 
words.  But  Charlie,  excited  on  the  instant  at  the 
prospect  of  meeting  a  lady  of  title,  heeded  nothing 
but  the  one  joyous  fact.  All  day  long  he  was  con- 
cerned with  the  choice  of  what  clothes  he  should  wear, 
whether  his  best  was  of  the  latest  cut,  and,  above  all 
how,  amid  such  "  swell  "  and  unfamiliar  surround- 
ings he  was  going  to  be  able  properly  to  conduct 
himself.  John's  laughing  asseveration  that  he 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  175 

needn't  worry,  for  Madame  de  Pierrefond  was  merely 
a  charming,  unaffected  American  woman,  brought 
resentment,  rather  than  confidence.  Already  he  had 
visions  of  gilded  halls  and  an  avenue  of  silk-legged 
footmen.  It  was  with  a  recurrence  of  the  faint  sense 
of  disappointment  that  he  saw  Madame  de  Pierre- 
fond's  door  thrown  wide  by  a  single  menial.  Its 
calves,  indeed,  dilated  unmistakable  silk,  but  the  grey 
tint  seemed,  to  Charlie,  unnecessarily  demure.  Up- 
stairs, however,  where  the  long  vista  of  lighted  draw- 
ing-rooms, the  mirrors,  great  jars  of  flowers,  and 
soft  blending  hues  made  a  sumptuous  whole,  the  situ- 
ation began  to  brighten ;  and  from  the  moment  of 
Inez'  cordial  hand-grasp,  smooth  waves  of  self-con- 
gratulation rocked  his  Western  soul. 

Later  on,  when  the  dove-coloured  menial,  with 
voice  and  manner  pitched  to  the  finest  edge  of  cere- 
mony announced  Monsieur  le  Prince  de  Brieux  and 
Madame  la  Princess,  the  waves  frothed  into  jubila- 
tion. At  last  he  was  seeing  life, —  high  life, —  the 
kind  he  had  read  about  in  novels.  How  he  would  im- 
press the  "  bunch "  to-morrow  night.  In  hopeful 
anticipation  of  some  such  glittering  eventuation  as 
the  present  one,  he  had  already  arranged  for  a  Latin 
Quarter  "  spree."  Around  the  bare,  though  genial, 
boards  of  their  favourite  cheap  restaurant,  he  would 
dispense  condescension  as  heretofore  he  had  handed 
out  French  rolls.  Charlie  had  still  a  few  things  to 
learn  about  the  Latin  Quarter. 

But  when   it   came   to   writing  home  —  here,   at 


176  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

least,  his  premises  were  secure, —  he  did  not  overesti- 
mate by  one  jot  the  pride  and  satisfaction  of  the  Old 
Girl,  the  term  in  which  he  was  wont,  most  disrespect- 
fully, to  think  of  his  mother.  Almost  he  could  see 
her  in  her  tight-fitting  bodice,  and  elbow-length  white 
silk  gloves,  stepping  into  the  basket  pony  phaeton 
for  a  round  of  visits  in  which  to  disseminate  the  re- 
flected glory. 

With  an  impulse  of  unconscious  criticism,  his  eyes 
went  again  to  Inez.  She  was  standing,  straight  and 
tall,  her  head  thrown  back  a  little,  her  red  lips  smil- 
ing, as  she  waited  for  the  approaching  guests.  It 
seemed  to  add  to  her  own  importance  that  she  did 
not  advance  by  an  inch.  Her  gown  this  evening 
was  the  favourite  grey,  but  the  undertones  were  of 
pale,  shimmering  blue-green.  She  wore  a  girdle  of 
almost  barbaric  beauty,  great  flat  planes  of  mala- 
chite and  lapis  lazuli,  woven  together  in  dull  Chinese 
gold.  Around  her  head  was  a  similar  band,  and  her 
throat  rose  from  a  filigree  of  gold  and  smaller  stones. 

Scarcely  had  she  presented  Madame  and  Monsieur 
le  Brieux,  and  Madame,  according  to  her  custom, 
was  making  for  the  silver  cigarette  box,  when  other 
guests  began  to  arrive.  John,  in  spite  of  a  lover's 
impatience  at  this  excess  of  interruption,  could  not 
hold  back  a  grin  of  admiration  to  see  how  well  Inez 
had  "  sized  up,"  even  before  meeting,  their  young 
compatriot.  Several  of  the  newcomers  were  pos- 
sessed of  titles,  others  were  simply  "  Madame  "  and 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  177 

"  Monsieur."  Ignoring  the  latter,  Charlie,  with 
naive  and  child-like  snobbery,  confined  his  wide-eyed 
interest  to  those  who  had.  He  had  never  quite  re- 
covered from  the  overwhelming  instant  in  which  he 
had  first  bowed  to  the  Princess,  and  several  times  had 
to  wrench  his  gaze  away,  lest  she  should  think  he 
was  staring. 

She  was  still  a  pretty  woman,  with  a  long  dissatis- 
fied face,  preternaturally  white,  and  thin  lips  so 
deeply  tinted  that  she  appeared  to  have  just  finished 
a  slice  of  blueberry  pie.  It  never  occurred  to  the 
ingenuous  lad  that  neither  of  these  tones  was  the  out- 
come of  natural  processes.  In  his  limited  experience, 
"  ladies  "  did  not  paint.  That  was  a  vice  restricted 
to  chorus  girls,  adventuresses  and  other  unmention- 
able females.  Mrs.  Abbey  had  always  been  strong 
on  the  things  that  "  ladies  "  did  not  do. 

Cigarette  smoking  was  the  one,  perhaps,  most  in- 
sistently denounced;  so  now,  as  his  fascinated  eyes 
watched  the  Princess  take  up  a  small  tube  of  white, 
lighting  it  with  the  dexterity  of  long  practice, —  he 
gave  an  involuntary  gasp. 

As  it  chanced  the  Princess,  blinking  through  the 
brief  glare,  caught  full  his  horror-stricken  eyes.  He 
dropped  them  guiltily,  and  his  face  slowly  grew  to  a 
purple  that  matched  the  smoker's  lips. 

Her  match  went  out.  A  swift  gleam  of  deviltry 
came  to  the  long,  sleepy  eyes.  The  dead  face  stirred 
a  little.  Boredom  —  ennui  —  was  the  bete  noire  of 


178  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

the  Princess'  pampered  existence.  It  clung  to  her 
like  an  invisible  old  man  of  the  sea.  Even  the  loos- 
ening of  a  leg-muscle  was  a  boon. 

She  leaned  toward  the  young  American,  beckoning 
imperiously.  "  Come  'ere,  leetle  boy,"  she  com- 
manded, "  you  leetle  pink  boy  wid'  beeg  eyes." 

Charlie  went,  walking  on  hot  ploughshares. 

"  My  light  it  ees  not  light,"  she  murmured,  as  he 
stood  beside  her.  "  You  weel  geeve  me  one,  yes  ?  " 

Charlie's  knees  battered  together.  He  took  up 
the  match-stand  nearest,  but  his  hands  trembled  so 
that  each  broke  in  hand  as  he  struck  it. 

The  Princess  laughed  softly.  The  old  man  of  the 
sea  slid  to  the  floor. 

Flushed,  miserable,  ecstatic,  the  boy  persisted,  and 
finally  ignition  was  achieved. 

"  Voila!  "  the  Princess  cried.  "  You  are  the  nice 
boy.  Now  you  shall  smoke  wid  me.  You  do  not 
smoke,  no?  But  you  mus'.  'Ere  is  one  of  my  spe- 
cial own." 

Charlie,  tingling  with  delicious  embarrassment,  ac- 
cepted the  cigarette.  It  had  a  crown  in  gold 
stamped  on  the  paper.  Now  he  felt  not  only  fash- 
ionable, but  wicked.  This  part  of  his  letter  home 
would  need  to  be  suppressed. 

From  this  time  on  the  evening  for  Charlie  was 
less  a  joy  than  a  heated  delirium.  Every  woman  in 
the  room,  except  Inez  and  a  young  American  girl, 
was  smoking.  A  great  many  men  had  come  in,  but 
what  were  men  to  Charlie?  The  American  girl  had 


INEZ  PLAYS  HOSTESS  179 

been  specially  invited  to  entertain  him  in  case  the 
older,  more  sophisticated  women  found  him  a  bore. 
But  the  most  sophisticated  of  them  all  had  appro- 
priated him,  and,  as  for  the  boy,  it  would  have 
taken  nothing  less  than  dynamite  to  remove  him  from 
the  enchantress'  side.  Already  she  had  promised 
to  teach  him  French,  and  had  given  him  permission 
to  call  next  afternoon  for  the  first  lesson. 

On  his  way  home  he  talked  incessantly,  but  John 
did  not  share  his  excitement.  For  the  lover,  it  had 
been  an  evening  of  torment.  The  hated  Monsieur 
Carant-Dozie  had  been  among  the  guests,  and,  after 
his  arrival  Inez  had  not  seemed  to  be  aware  of  any 
other  masculine  presence.  Carant-Dozie  had  imme- 
diately changed  one  end  of  the  salon  into  a  lecture 
hall,  and  John,  being  ignorant  of  French,  was  forced 
to  devote  himself  to  the  young  American  girl  who 
had  been  asked  for  Charlie. 

Within  a  few  days,  however,  his  resentment  passed. 
Inez,  on  his  next  visit,  was  alone.  She  still  avoided 
the  theme  of  matrimony,  but  had  agreed  for  him  to 
write  of  their  love  to  his  mother.  With  this  impor- 
tant letter  on  its  way  he  was,  at  least  for  the  time 
being,  contented,  and  told  himself  it  would  be  more 
generous  not  to  attempt  further  pledges;  and  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  who  dearly  loved  him, —  not 
because  he  was  overbrilliant,  or  compelling,  but  just 
for  the  strength,  and  honour  and  cleanness  of  his 
soul, —  set  all  her  wonderful  charm  to  work,  that  he 
might  realise  her  gratitude. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT 

HE  came  to  think  of  them  as  twin  stars, —  these 
two  shining,  dominant  influences  of  his  present  life. 
Scarcely  could  he  tell  which  was  the  brighter, —  Inez 
or  his  rapidly  advancing  work.  Sometimes,  under 
his  uplifted,  adoring  gaze,  they  would  appear  to 
tremble,  to  waver,  and  slowly  merge  into  a  luminous 
One. 

John  felt  himself  to  be  the  happiest  and  most  for- 
tunate man  alive.  No  need  of  heaven,  if  earth  could 
be  like  this ! 

Inez,  for  her  part,  was  gradually  loosening  all 
other  interests,  focussing  her  brilliant  intellect  and 
her  heart  on  him.  Under  the  stimulus  of  such  a  love, 
new  powers  and  insight  came  to  the  young  man. 
The  once  Strange  Woman  had  become  a  dear  com- 
panion, John's  muse  and  his  constant  inspiration. 

But  Inez  was  not  a  woman  to  be  contented  for 
any  long  space  of  time  with  incense  and  a  niche. 
Her  mind,  a  restless,  eager  octopus,  flung  out  strong 
tentacles  to  clutch  the  very  essence  of  her  lover's 
need.  She  began  a  definite  study  of  architecture, 
reading  voraciously;  and,  after  a  little,  having  sup- 
plied herself  with  a  draughting  board  and  instru- 

180 


TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT       181 

ments,  insisted  that  he  teach  her  how  to  draw.  The 
relative  positions  in  which  their  friendship  started 
were  thus  reversed. 

John  accepted  his  tutorship  laughingly,  but  within 
a  very  few  days  amusement  began  to  give  way  to 
wonder  and  delight.  All  that  he  told  her  was  ab- 
sorbed as  sand  takes  water.  She  never  asked  a  sec- 
ond time  for  an  explanation ;  and  her  questions  often 
staggered  him  with  their  direct  precision.  Drawing 
presented  no  difficulties  at  all.  She  seemed  to  have 
a  childlike  joy  in  it,  as  in  a  new  and  absorbing  game. 
When  John  marvelled,  and,  half- jokingly,  half  in 
earnest,  accused  her  of  having  already  been  under 
skilful  tutelage,  she  answered,  with  her  pretty,  dep- 
recating gesture,  "  Not  in  the  architecture,  my  Jean. 
You  are  the  first  an'  onliest  master  in  that  Art,  but 
when  I  was  quite  little,  I  showed  some  talent  in 
drawing.  I  always  wished  to  follow  it, —  but " — 
here  she  gave  a  petulant  shrug  — "  my  voice, —  it 
was  thought  good,  also,  and  the  voice,  being  con- 
sidered a  better  asset  in  the  barter  and  trade  of 
marriage, —  I  was  made  to  put  all  the  time  and 
practice  upon  that.  But  for  that  bad  voice,"  she 
added,  fighting  back,  as  he  could  see,  the  dark  mem- 
ories her  words  had  evoked,  "  I  might  by  now, — 
who  can  tell?  —  'ave  been  the  great  artiste,  like 
Cecilia  Beaux  and  Mary  Cassatt." 

"  I  am  sure  you  could  be  anything  that  you 
wanted  to  be,"  John  told  her,  fatuously.  "  You  are 
a  better  architect  than  I  am  this  minute." 


182  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  It  is  the  dangerous  admission  for  a  teacher 
to  make  to  his  little  pupeel,"  she  said  to  him,  de- 
murely. 

"  Even  though  you  are?  "  he  teased. 

"  More, —  much  more, —  if  I  are." 

The  emotional  passages  of  their  intercourse,  so 
to  speak,  were  not  so  invariably  satisfactory.  The 
"  pernicious  doctrines  "  which  he  had  set  himself  to 
weed  from  his  beloved's  mind,  had  evidently  grown 
deep.  A  few  of  the  feebler  came  up  readily  enough, 
but  when  he  laid  hold  of  the  more  hated, —  those 
definitely  planted  and  nurtured  by  Monsieur  Carant- 
Dozie, —  his  muscles  ached  in  vain. 

"  You  can't  believe  those  absurd  blasphemies, 
Inez.  You've  got  too  much  intelligence.  You  sim- 
ply can't" 

"And  if  it  is  that  I  can't"  He  flushed  at  her 
attempt  to  reproduce  the  flat  American  "  a  "  in  the 
word  of  denial.  "  Why  do  you  trouble,  my  poor 
Jean?" 

"But  — do  you?" 

"  'Ave  teacher  not  just  said, —  I  can't?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  say  it." 

"  Didn't  you  hear  me  try, —  so  veree  'ard  ?  "  was 
her  meek  rejoinder. 

John  shook  himself  irritably.  He  was  striving 
not  to  laugh.  "  You're  an  eel, —  a  wriggling,  silver 
eel !  "  he  expostulated. 

Inez  broke  into  smiles.  "  It  is  good.  Now  that 
you  'ave  called  me  a  reptile,  you  will  feel  better, 


TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT       183 

yes  ?  Now,  Jean, —  my  Jean,"  she  coaxed,  "  lean 
once  more  to  our  lesson,  and  explain  to  me  of  the 
modules  in  this  Corinthian  frieze." 

In  some  such  disastrous  wise,  his  attempts  at  re- 
generation always  ended.  In  Inez'  presence  he  was 
unable  to  get  past  the  foil  of  her  flashing  wit ;  apart 
from  her  he  found  himself,  after  each  encounter,  less 
confident  and,  at  the  same  time,  more  determined  to 
win. 

There  was  no  one  who  could  help  him.  It  was  a 
struggle  that  must  go  on  between  himself  and  the 
woman  he  loved,  alone.  And  yet,  with  an  instinct 
surviving  from  boyhood,  his  troubled  heart  reached 
outward  to  the  thought  of  his  mother.  If  she  could 
only  be  near!  If  he  could  feel,  just  once,  that  gen- 
tle mother-hand  upon  his  hair! 

Of  course  the  real  substance  of  the  controversy 
could  not  be  disclosed.  His  soul  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  sullying  that  sweet  and  tranquil  mind 
with  new-world  nihilism.  It  was  her  very  ignorance 
that  made  his  greatest  need  of  her. 

Before  this  she  had  received  the  letter  telling  of 
his  engagement.  He  began  to  count  time  back- 
wards. Why,  it  was  two  weeks  and  over !  How  had 
the  days  vanished?  He  smiled,  knowing  only  too 
well.  Now  almost  any  post  might  bring  his  moth- 
er's answer. 

It  came  late  one  afternoon.  He  and  Charlie  had 
planned  to  have  a  quiet  dinner  together,  after  which 
the  boy  was  to  leave  and  join  his  rapidly  increasing 


184-  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  bunch."  John  had,  before  him,  the  promise  of  a 
evening  tete-a-tete  with  Inez,  but,  as  he  was  not 
to  arrive  until  eight  there  would  be  a  long  quiet 
hour  in  which  to  enjoy  his  letter. 

He  read  slowly,  with  deliberate  retracing  of  many 
sentences.  It  was  such  a  one  as  only  she  could  have 
sent, —  eager,  a  little  tremulous  at  times,  and  always 
pathetically  loving.  There  was  not  a  single  query, 
and  no  thought  of  self.  That  her  boy  had,  at  last, 
given  his  love,  his  man's  love,  to  a  woman ;  that  the 
love  was,  in  glorious  measure,  returned, —  these 
facts  enclosed  for  her  the  entire  universe.  She  would 
love  Inez.  Already  she  loved  her.  She  sent  God's 
blessing  to  both  her  dear  children. 

More  than  once  John  lifted  his  eyes  from  the 
finely  written  pages,  staring  out  in  a  brown  study, 
and  wondering  whether  it  was  not  Inez'  due  that  he 
should  place  this  letter  in  her  jewelled  hands.  In 
spite  of  their  recent  closeness,  he  had  never  shared 
with  her  his  mother's  letters.  Until  now  he  had  not 
tried  to  analyse  his  feeling  of  reluctance.  It  was 
with  a  slight  sense  of  surprise  and  the  fear  of  in- 
ward disloyalty  that  he  realised  the  persistence  of 
this  attitude. 

He  sighed,  and  then  diligently  sought  to  find  the 
reason.  After  some  moments  of  heavy  thought  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on  nothing  tangible  except  the 
presence,  in  Inez'  mind,  of  certain  doctrines  of  which 
he  disapproved.  Even  these  were  not  clear,  since 
she  continued  to  refuse  discussion. 


TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT        185 

He  looked  again  at  the  pages,  read  the  last  sen- 
tence aloud,  and  then,  springing  up,  put  it  among 
the  others  on  his  desk. 

As  he  did  so,  Felice  knocked  upon  the  door.  It 
was  another  letter,  directed,  also  in  his  mother's 
hand,  and  in  his  care,  to  Madame  Inez  de  Pierrefond. 

John  placed  it  in  an  inner  pocket,  and  in  a  few 
moments  was  on  his  way. 

After  their  greeting,  he  led  Inez  near  a  standing 
lamp,  and,  without  speaking,  gave  her  the  missive. 
With  a  closer  scrutiny  than  he  realised,  he  watched 
the  changing,  down-bent  face  as  it  read.  She  went 
through  it  twice, —  the  second  time  very  slowly, 
and  then,  Avordless  as  he,  held  it  out.  Her  eyes  were 
bright  and  soft.  He  caught  a  gleam,  as  if  of  rising 
tears. 

"  Dear  Woman  who  is  to  be  my  dear  son's  wife," 
it  began.  "  My  heart  is  so  filled  with  this  wonderful 
and  beautiful  news  that  I  fear  I  shall  express  myself 
very  badly.  Perhaps  it  is  better  that  I  do  not  at- 
tempt to  say  very  much.  John  has  been  all  his  life 
the  best  and  dearest  of  sons.  There  is  an  old  adage 
that  a  good  son  makes  a  good  husband.  It  will  be 
so  with  your  John.  I  know  you  are  already  as 
proud  of  him  as  I  am. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  a  definite  time  for  your 
marriage?  I  wish  that  it  could  be  soon.  It  may 
be  selfish  of  me  to  write  this,  but  I  cannot  help  wish- 
ing it  could  take  place  in  the  little  church  where 


186  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

John's  father  and  I  were  married,  and  where  our 
boy  was  christened. 

"  But,  after  all,  the  place  does  not  make  a  great 
deal  of  difference.  The  beauty  of  the  ceremony 
will  be  the  same  wherever  it  is. 

"  You  love  my  boy.  That  is  enough.  Already 
I  feel  that  you  are  my  dear  daughter.  God  bless 
both  my  children  is  the  deep  and  heart-felt  prayer  of 

"  JOHN'S  MOTHER." 

Raising  his  eyes  John  saw  that  his  companion  was 
at  some  distance.  Her  head  was  turned  from  him, 
and  she  held  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Inexpressi- 
bly touched  by  this  proof  of  her  responsive  tender- 
ness, he  hurried  after,  taking  her  into  his  arms. 
She  was  weeping,  not  violently,  but  with  a  sort  of 
subdued  passion.  Her  body  yielded  instantly  to  his 
touch.  It  felt  heavy,  chill  and  flaccid. 

"  Don't  cry  so,  rny  darling.  Don't  cry.  I  love 
you  for  it,  but  it  breaks  my  heart." 

"  Your  heart, —  your  good,  true  heart, —  it  is  not 
yet  broke,  my  Jean,"  she  sobbed,  "  and  now  it  is  me 
that  mus'  break  it." 

"  Why, —  Inez  — "  he  began  to  stammer. 

"  I  knew  it  mus'  come  soon.  I  knew,"  she  went 
on  more  wildly.  "  And  this  dear  letter  of  your 
mother's, —  it  has  made  it  come." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  darling.  Try  to 
be  a  little  quieter.  Surely  no  more  loving  letter  was 
ever  written." 


TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT        187 

"  Yes, —  that  it  is.  So  loving, —  an'  I  will  break 
her  heart  wid  yours." 

"  You  are  hysterical,"  said  John  more  sternly. 
"  I  insist  that  you  compose  yourself.  Come  over 
here  to  this  sofa." 

She  wrenched  herself  away,  facing  him  with  tear- 
wet,  resolute  eyes. 

"  No !  I  weel  not  sit.  You  stand  there  an'  you 
listen.  It  mus'  be  spoke  now, —  the  all  of  it !  " 

He  tried  again  to  check  her,  but  she  waved  him 
back. 

"  Don't  try  to  stop,  Jean  'Emingway.  I  'ave 
been  the  coward  and  the  'ippocrite  now  too  long. 
I  shut  my  eyes  to  keep  my  'appiness !  Now  I  shall 
be  brave." 

She  was  poised  like  a  Valkyrie  on  a  menaced  peak. 
Now  at  last,  he  realised,  she  was  to  make  full  decla- 
ration of  the  doctrines  which  threatened  their  united 
lives.  He  saw  that  she  must  not  be  opposed. 

"  I  am  listening,"  he  said,  curtly. 

"  It  is  of  marriage ! "  she  began,  more  calmly. 
"  Always  you  speak  to  me  in  old  conventions, —  de 
marriage,  de  ceremony, —  de  church!  Now,  your 
mother,  too,  she  thinks  first  and  speaks  first  of  dese 
things." 

Here  she  gave  an  outflung  gesture  toward  the  let- 
ter, still  in  his  hands. 

"  Me,  I  do  not  longer  believe  in  church.  My  life 
'as  keeled  in  me  all  such  superstition.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  marriage.  I  weel  'ave  none  of  it.  No,  do 


188  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

not  speak ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  rising  to  a  sort  of 
wail,  "  an'  do  not  stare  at  me  so  wid  fire  eyes  an* 
dat  white,  hard  face.  I  weel  not  'ave  bonds  of  mar- 
riage, either  by  church  or  state.  I  'ave  'ad  it  once, 

—  yes,  God !  —  I  'ave  'ad  it.     I  will  not  again  mate 
wid  man  who  mils'  be  tied.     I  love  you.     That  much 
you   cannot  doubt.     I  love  you!     I  weel  be  your 
mate,  your  'elp,  your  comrade,  your  faithful  love. 
At  any  time  you  want  me,  I  weel  be  all  dese  things, 

—  but    nevaire    again, —  nevaire, —  do    you    onder- 
stan',  weel  I  put  on  for  you  or  any  other  man,  the 
manacles  of  accursed,  wicked  marriage ! " 

A  silence  as  of  death  and,  for  John,  with  death's 
hollow  blackness,  rose  in  the  long,  cool  rooms.  For 
a  few  moments,  Inez'  deep,  stifled  breathing  could 
be  heard,  then  it,  too,  was  still. 

John's  eyes  were  on  the  floor.  He  was  ashamed 
more  for  her  than  for  himself.  The  consciousness 
of  all  that  he  had  lost  was  to  come  later.  Now  his 
one  impulse  was  to  escape,  to  put  a  universe  between 
him  and  the  flaming,  evil  spirit  that  had  lured  and 
degraded  him. 

He  moved  one  hand  mechanically.  Something 
rustled.  He  stared  down  to  see  his  mother's  letter 
crumpled  into  a  sharp-edged  mass.  He  smoothed 
it  out  with  a  distorted  grimace  meant  for  a  smile. 
As  he  put  it  gently  back  into  his  pocket,  Inez  gave 
the  cry  of  a  stricken  animal  and  hid  her  face. 

Without  a  look  at  her,  John  turned  away.     A 


TWIN  STARS  AND  — THE  PIT        189 

woman's  voice, —  a  hungry  beggar's  voice, —  crept 
after  him, —  "  I  shall  be  here  if  ever  — " 

It  broke  off  in  a  sob.  John  stalked  toward  the 
stairs. 

Again,  as  if  from  an  under  world  of  torment,  it 
was  lifted, — "  Pairehaps, —  Jean  —  if  you  love 
enough  —  if  you  would  try  to  make  me  see  things 
in  your  way  — " 

John  did  not  return  to  his  rooms.  All  night, 
storm-driven,  devil-lashed,  he  walked  the  streets. 
Instead  of  an  upheld  glory,  he  seemed  now  to  bend 
above  a  pit,  fathomless  in  despair,  and  blurred  with 
the  ashes  of  all  happiness. 

When  daylight,  a  wide  grey  mockery,  began  to 
show  behind  Mont  Martre,  he  crept  back,  and  — 
under  a  sudden  impulse  —  started  the  packing  of 
his  things.  It  was  incredible  that  he  should  stay  on 
in  Paris.  There  was  but  one  place  for  him  now, 
and  that  was  home.  To  be  near  the  sweet,  clean 
presence  of  his  mother,  to  see  her  smile,  to  listen, 
once  again,  to  the  dear,  deliberate  voice, —  it  was  a 
longing  practically  irresistible. 

In  the  midst  of  his  work  he  paused.  Charlie,  in 
a  few  hours  more,  would  be  coming  up  to  breakfast. 
He  could  not  explain  himself  to  Charlie.  That 
would  be  more  intolerable  than  to  remain. 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  groaning  aloud.  Already 
he  was  blocked.  After  a  long,  long  time  he  lifted  his 
sunken  head.  There  were  cries  from  venders  in  the 


190  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

street  and,  in  the  room  below,  he  could  hear  Charlie 
moving.  As  if  in  panic,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  shut- 
ting down  his  trunk-lid,  and  hanging  strewn  gar- 
ments back  into  the  big  amoire.  The  determination 
to  leave  was  still  with  him,  only,  he  saw  now,  that  it 
must  be  done  in  a  more  rational  way. 

When  the  boy  came  up,  exclaiming  at  his  friend's 
pallor,  the  tormented  man  was  able  to  fling  off  sym- 
pathy with  the  casual  statement, —  "  Oh,  it's  only  a 
beastly  headache,  brought  on  by  too  constant  use 
of  the  eyes.  I  didn't  sleep  at  all.  I'll  be  all  right 
after  a  cup  of  the  hot  fluid  Madame  calls  coffee." 

But  the  fluid  produced  no  such  result.  It  was 
more  than  usually  nauseating,  and  required  positive 
heroism  to  swallow.  Charlie's  solicitations  were  re- 
newed ;  but  his  companion,  forcing  a  greenish  grin 
meant  to  indicate  physical  well-being,  insisted  on  fol- 
lowing the  established  routine. 

Once  within  the  Ecole,  he  remained  only  long 
enough  to  be  sure  that  Charlie  had  gone  to  work,  and 
then,  excusing  himself  on  the  plea  of  illness,  went 
out  again  to  interminable  street-wanderings. 


CHAPTER  XV 
CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE 

FOR  ten  days  he  remained  away  from  Inez.  Twice 
did  he  recommence  the  packing  of  his  trunks,  and 
each  time,  as  before,  did  the  need  of  explaining  the 
submersive  plan  to  Charlie  Abbey  check  him.  What, 
after  all,  was  it  that  he  could  say?  Any  fictitious 
presentment  —  perhaps,  could  he  bring  himself  to 
speak  it,  even  the  true  one  —  would  be  regarded  by 
the  inexperienced  boy  as  merely  a  lovers'  quarrel. 
To  throw  over  his  ambition,  his  career,  everything, 
in  fact,  that  he  and  the  little  mother  at  home  had 
worked  for,  just  because  a  love-affair  was  thwarted, 
would  seem  to  Charlie  —  and  justly,  too  —  a  pro- 
ceeding that  deserved  only  contempt. 

He  must  endure  a  little  longer.  Perhaps,  out  of 
the  void,  some  new  happening  would  rise,  giving  him 
a  more  logical  motive  for  escape.  Meanwhile  he  lay, 
helpless  and  bound,  upon  the  rack.  Visions  and 
jeering  thoughts,  a  pack  of  gaunt,  grey  wolves,  rav- 
aged him  by  night  and  by  day.  At  times  he  could 
feel  the  sharp  teeth  in  the  very  flesh  of  his  heart. 
If  only,  for  one  hour,  he  could  forget !  The  picture 
of  her  bending  above  white  lilies, —  her  exquisite, 
plaintive  voice  as  she  sang, —  her  suddenly  upraised 
eyes, —  her  kisses !  —  how  they  came  back ! 

191 


192  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I  will  not  think  of  her.  I  witt  not !  "  he  groaned. 
"  Or  if  I  must,  let  it  be  only  the  memory  of  those 
last  terrible  words  that  blighted  us." 

But  even  in  these  lurked  echoes  keyed  to  pleading. 
"  I  shall  be  here, —  if  ever  — "  Then  she  had 
paused.  Afterward,  as  from  one  forsaken  in  a  wood, 
"  If  you  loved  enough,  Jean.  If  you  loved 
enough — "  God!  Was  this  torment  not  enough, 
and  more? 

He  could  see  the  great,  tear-lit  eyes  reproaching 
him.  Her  head  moved  with  a  wordless  "  no," —  for 
she  had  not  left  this  sentence  unfinished.  "  If  you 
would  try  to  make  me  see  things  in  your  way." 

After  the  first  few  days  in  which  all  things  had 
been  blurred  into  a  single  consuming  agony,  it  was 
this  last  phrase  that  stood  out.  He  would  wake 
from  troubled  dreams,  repeating  it.  When  Sunday 
came,  he  went  to  church,  hoping  to  exorcise  phan- 
toms ;  but  her  words  lurked  in  the  refrain  of  each 
familiar  hymn.  The  sermon,  a  practical  straight- 
forward discourse,  chanced  to  be  on  "  Tolerance." 

"  How  else,"  demanded  the  young  minister,  "  was 
the  spread  of  truth  to  be  accomplished  ?  Mere  prose- 
lyting was  as  narrow  as  the  turning  of  a  deaf  ear. 
Each  soul  had  its  own  way  of  growth,  its  own  lines 
of  development,  and  in  proportion  as  one  felt  the 
righteousness  of  his  individual  belief,  so  should  he 
use  sympathy,  understanding  and,  above  all,  toler- 
ance, in  efforts  to  draw  less  fortunate  wanderers  into 
his  haven  of  content." 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  193 

Next  morning  the  early  sparrows  chirped,  "  If  you 
loved  enough !  If  you  would  make  me  see  things  in 
your  way."  But  John,  through  muttered  objurga- 
tions at  their  noise,  said  to  himself  that  he  had  no 
arguments  to  convince  an  acknowledged  prentice  of 
Monsieur  Carant-Dozie. 

The  strain  began  to  tell  upon  him  physically.  He 
could  not  eat.  His  face  grew  thin,  and  his  eyes  so 
dull  and  haggard  that  Charlie  became  alarmed. 
Much  to  John's  irritation,  the  boy  gave  up  all 
"  sprees "  and  took  to  keeping  his  friend  in 
sight. 

This  espionage,  so  kindly  meant,  began  to  under- 
mine the  very  foundations  of  the  victim's  self-con- 
trol. With  all  the  energy  left  to  his  spent  mind  and 
body,  he  tried  to  "  be  decent."  But  his  frequent  as- 
severations as  to  being  "  all  right,"  and  his  almost 
pleading  importunities  that  Charlie  go  back  to  the 
primrose  path  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  alike  were  with- 
out result.  He  began  to  look  furtively  into  Char- 
lie's face.  The  boy's  eyes,  perplexed  and  commiser- 
ating, were  invariably  set  upon  his  own.  The  limit 
of  endurance  drew  closer.  One  morning,  at  break- 
fast, the  tense  cord  snapped. 

The  younger  man,  snubbed  at  every  turn,  had 
gradually  fallen  into  silence.  It  was  not,  however, 
as  John  vaguely  felt,  a  silence  of  resignation. 
There  was  something  about  it  that  resembled  "  get- 
ting up  steam."  Now  the  boy  drew  himself  to- 
gether, leaning  slightly  forward.  John  gave  his 


194  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

quick  look  and,  at  what  he  saw,  flung  out  a  hand  of 
protest. 

"  Nothing  doin',"  said  Charlie  grimly.  "  It's 
bound  to  arrive  this  shot.  Old  man,  you've  got  to 
see  a  doctor." 

"  See  hell !  "  said  John,  most  rudely. 

"  Strikes  me,"  reflected  Charlie  sapiently,  "  that 
you've  been  enjoying  that  particular  experience 
for  over  a  week.  Don't  you  think  you're  due  a 
change  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,"  growled  John.  "  And  even  if  I 
did — "  The  hiatus  crackled  with  insult. 

"  Got  you,  Steve,"  sang  out  the  other  cheerfully. 
*'  And  if  you  did  you  would  prefer  to  attend  to  it 
yourself.  But  the  point  is, —  you  don't  attend. 
D'ye  s'pose  I'd  care  a  damn  about  it,  if  it  concerned 
you  only?  " 

John  looked  up,  fierce  and  startled. 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't.  You're  old  enough  to  see  to 
yourself.  I'm  thinking  of  somebody  else  —  of  Mrs. 
Hemingway." 

"  Oh,"  gasped  John,  and  dropped  his  head. 

The  other,  perceiving  his  advantage,  went  on  more 
quietly. 

"  In  this  past  year,  I've  seen  a  lot  of  Mrs.  Hem- 
ingway. I  have  always  loved  her,  and  somehow  — 
lately  —  she  has  seemed  to  be  more  of  a  real  mother 
than  my  own.  When  I  was  to  join  you  here,  she 
made  me  promise,  over  and  over  again,  that  I  would 
tell  her  if  you  got  down  sick  in  bed.  She  didn't 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  195 

trust  you,  and  she  was  right.  Now  what  sort  of  a 
mutt  d'ye  s'pose  I'd  feel  like,"  he  asked,  reprovingly, 
"  if  you  are  taken  with  smallpox,  or  typhoid,  and 
I've  done  nothing  to  prevent  ?  " 

John  did  not  speak  at  once.  His  eyes  were  still 
hidden,  but  at  the  mention  of  his  mother's  name 
something  warm  and  sweet  trembled  above  his  heart. 

"  You're  a  good  kid,  Charlie,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  And  I  know  that  I've  been  worse  than  a 
sore-headed  bear  to  live  with.  Something  is  the 
matter.  It  would  be  absurd  for  me  to  pretend 
there's  not.  But  —  it  is  nothing  where  a  doctor 
could  help." 

The  boy  considerately  turned  his  eyes  away.  It 
hurt  him  to  see  John's  head,  usually  so  erect,  bowed 
over  to  the  table.  Gazing  fixedly  in  the  direction  of 
a  window  he  suggested,  "  If  it  isn't  real  sickness, 
John, —  if  it's  something  on  your  chest, —  perhaps, 
if  you  could  manage  to  cough  it  up  —  you  know  I'm 
safe."  He  paused  on  a  note  of  solicitation.  No 
reply  followed. 

Charlie  cleared  his  throat.  It  is  difficult  to  talk 
sympathetically  to  a  silent  image,  even  though  bent 
by  grief. 

"  You  see  — "  stated  the  boy,  "  I  figure  it  out  like 
this.  I  may  be  only  a  kid  in  your  eyes,  but  I'm 
growin'  every  day.  Then  we're  from  the  same  home 
town.  I  love  your  mother.  And  — "  he  added  with 
more  confidence,  "  I've  had  a  few  little  troubles  of 
my  own,  and  I  tell  you,  it's  only  human  nature,  but 


196  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

you'll  never  manage  to  brace  up  alone.  You've  got 
to  tell  somebody  else  what's  eatin'  you.  Back  home, 
in  Delphi,"  he  added,  with  a  wisdom  greater  than  his 
years,  "  I  used  to  tell  your  mother." 

John  raised  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  smile.  The 
hunted  look  had  already  softened. 

"  You  were  lucky,"  he  said,  "  to  have  her.  But 
even  if  she  were  in  your  place  this  minute,  I  could 
not  hurt  her  with  the  thing  that  is  hurting  me." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  cried  Charlie.  His  round  eyes 
fixed  themselves  into  a  horrified  stare.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  say, —  you — "  Echoes  of  the  Latin  Quar- 
ter beat  about  his  ears. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  common  or  disgraceful,"  said 
John  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  That  is,"  he  corrected, 
"  nothing  disgraceful  in  the  way  you  are  now  think- 
ing. It  is  only  an  —  er  —  a,  what  the  French  call 
an  impasse,  that  she  couldn't  possibly  understand." 

"  Now  don't  you  go  making  any  mistake  about 
what  Mrs.  Hemingway  can  understand,"  the  other 
was  beginning  eagerly,  when  John,  with  a  scowl, 
checked  him. 

"  I  guess  I  know  my  own  mother !  It  is  something 
I  wouldn't  leant  her  to  understand." 

"  Then  it's  about  you  and  Madame  de  Pierre- 
fond,"  Charlie  flung  out,  almost  before  he  knew  the 
words  were  spoken.  They  were  startling,  even  to 
himself.  He  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  wished  he 
had  a  corner  to  back  into. 

John  had  a  brief,  fierce  struggle.     His  face  be- 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  197 

came  ghastly.  "  You've  hit  it,"  he  said  between  his 
teeth.  "  I've  been  fool  enough  to  think  that  Ma- 
dame de  Pierrefond  cared  for  me, —  that,  some  day, 
she  would  be  my  wife."  At  the  last  word  his  voice 
broke. 

"  John, —  old  man,"  said  the  boy  earnestly,  lean- 
ing forward  to  emphasise  his  statement,  "  I've  seen 
you  two  together.  If  ever  a  woman  loved  a  man, 
that  glorious  creature  loves  you.  Why !  "  he  cried. 
"  When  she's  talking  to  you  even  the  back  of  her 
neck  shows  it !  " 

"  Don't !  "  said  John  sharply. 

But  Charlie  had  gone  too  far  to  be  suppressed. 

"  All  of  her  friends  know  and  speak  of  it,"  he 
hurried  on,  ignoring  tentative  interruptions.  "  The 
Princess  de  Brieux — " 

A  burst  of  fury  interposed.  "  Her  friends! " 
raged  John.  "  Atheists,  free-thinkers, —  devils, — 
all  of  them.  They  have  poisoned  and  corrupted  her 
mind  so  that  a  decent  man  has  to  shun  her.  I  know 
the  Princess  is  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  you.  Maybe 
she'll  drag  you  into  the  same  net.  Has  she  ever,  in 
your  presence,  attempted  to  expound  her  tender, 
womanly  view  on  marriage  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  admitted  Charlie.  "  She  says  she 
doesn't  believe  in  it.  That's  just  a  way  of  talking. 
She  says  she  wishes  she  had  never  married  the 
Prince,  so  that  now  she  could  shake  him." 

"  And  it  doesn't  fill  you  with  disgust?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Charlie,  fighting  down  a  rising  grin, 


198  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  after  all,  she  is  married,  and  she  doesn't  try  to 
shake  him.  The  Prince  believes  exactly  as  she  does." 

Before  John  could  arrange  a  retort  sufficiently 
annihilating,  the  other  was  leaning  back  with  a  long, 
shrill  whistle  of  enlightenment.  "  I  see  it !  Inez 
has  been  trying  the  dope  on  you, —  and  you, —  in- 
stead of  swallowing  like  a  man, —  bolted !  " 

"  When  you  allude  to  Madame  de  Pierrefond," 
cried  John  angrily,  "  I'd  advise  you  to  choose  your 
words  more  carefully." 

His  eyes  flashed.  A  hint  of  colour,  long  absent, 
stole  into  his  lean  cheeks. 

His  companion,  revolving  what  he  now  realised  to 
be  the  cause  of  John's  tragedy,  had  already  bent  his 
agile  mind  toward  feats  of  reconciliation,  and  was, 
as  a  consequence,  airily  oblivious  of  scorn.  The 
other,  becoming  weary  of  this  game  of  darting  Par- 
thian arrows  into  nothingness,  fell  to  gnawing  his 
grey  lips. 

"  The  matter  is,  you  take  the  thing  too  seriously, 
old  man,"  Charlie  delivered  himself  at  length. 
"  That  fool  talk  is  only  a  pose, —  a  sort  of  intel- 
lectual fad  of  the  moment.  Don't  see  it,  and  it  isn't 
there." 

He  spoke  in  a  patronising,  almost  a  fatherly  way 
which,  at  any  other  time,  would  have  afforded  John 
amusement.  Now  in  his  overwrought  condition  it 
goaded  him  to  frenzy. 

"  You  —  you  —  ass!  *'  he  hissed,  between  set 
teeth.  "  Do  you  suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  I 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  199 

would  let  a  mere  fad  come  between  me  and  a  woman  I 
lo  — ,  I  have  loved, —  as  I  have  Inez  ?  " 

"  No  good  bluffing  yourself  with  that  past  tense," 
said  Charlie  tranquilly.  "  It's  love,  not  *  loved.' 
And,  by  way  of  answer  to  your  courteous  question, 
I  will  repeat  my  sentiments  in  the  form  of  a  conun- 
drum, *  When  is  a  fad  not  a  fad?  '  " 

John  gave  a  look  meant  to  excoriate.  "  I  should 
think  that  even  you  would  have  better  taste  than  to 
joke." 

Charlie  essayed  a  shrug  Franfaise.  It  was  a 
weird  contortion,  being  more  in  the  nature  of  a  sup- 
pressed sneeze,  than  the  light,  pitying,  bagatelle  of 
grace  intended  by  its  performer. 

"  Was  Moses  joking  when  he  smote  the  rock?  " 
he  questioned,  cryptically. 

John  emitted  a  snort,  meant  for  a  derisive  laugh. 
**  So  you  consider  yourself  Moses  !  " 

"  No,"  granted  his  vis-a-vis,  lighting  a  cigarette, 
"  but  I  consider  you  a  pig-headed  rock." 

By  this  John  had  entered  that  inner  zone  of  fury 
where  calm  begins.  He  now  took  out  his  watch,  con- 
sulting it  firmly. 

"  Time  for  little  boys  to  go  to  school,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Are  you  sure  you're  up  to  it  ?  "  was  Charlie's 
anxious  query. 

John  caught  his  breath  at  the  impertinence.  He 
felt  that  in  a  moment  more  he  would  knock  his  com- 
patriot down. 


200  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  You'd  better  leave,  Abbey,"  he  said  in  a  low, 
controlled  voice. 

Charlie  said  nothing.  He,  too,  had  risen.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  to  hesitate;  then,  suddenly 
flinging  the  cigarette  toward  the  empty  grate,  he 
deliberately  walked  up  to  John.  The  man, 
meeting  his  eyes,  saw  there  a  new  and  unfamiliar 
Charlie.  The  pink  and  white  young  face  no 
longer  smiled;  the  blue  eyes  were  dark  with  hurt 
anger. 

"  It's  good-bye  then,"  he  stated,  without  rancour. 
"  I  tried  to  do  my  best,  and  I'm  sorry  for  your  sake 
as  well  as  my  own  that  I  have  made  a  mess  of  it. 
But  I  can't  stand  everything, —  not  even  for  your 
mother.  I'll  see  that  my  things  are  moved  this  aft- 
ernoon. Good-bye." 

John,  literally  paralysed  by  astonishment,  watched 
him  until  he  reached  the  door.  Had  the  maid  Felice 
sprung  up,  browbeating  him  with  some  new  theory 
of  the  Fourth  Dimension,  he  could  not  have  been 
more  dazed. 

"  Charlie !     Hold  on !  "  he  cried. 

The  boy  did  not  seem  to  hear.  John  sped  after 
him,  catching  him  by  an  arm. 

"  I  apologise.     I  was  a  beast." 

Charlie  stood  still,  but  his  face  did  not  soften. 

"  This  is  absurd.  You  don't  want  to  break  up  a 
whole  life's  friendship." 

Young  Abbey  directed  his  eyes  toward  the  stair- 
way. 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  201 

"  Damn  it !  "  vociferated  John.  "  I  apologised. 
Didn't  you  hear  me?  " 

"  I  heard  you,  of  course,"  said  Charlie,  speaking 
as  if  against  his  will.  "  You  probably  think  me  such 
a  kid  and  a  bone-head  that  apology  takes  little  from 
your  manly  self-respect." 

John  flinched  before  the  note  of  scorn. 

"  Look  here,  Hemingway,"  broke  out  the  other, 
ilinging  suddenly  around,  "  you're  begging  for  it  and 
you're  going  to  get  it.  You  think  it's  all  self- 
respect.  You  pride  yourself  on  it,  but  it  isn't.  It's 
only  enlarged  self-consciousness  and  conceit.  You 
used  to  be  pretty  bad  at  home,  but  you  were  such  a 
decent  chap  in  other  ways  that  the  other  fellows 
overlooked  it.  Now,  off  to  yourself,  you're  nothing 
but  self-consciousness.  You  never  get  out  of  your 
own  way.  That's  the  reason  you  haven't  made 
friends  at  the  Ecole.  They've  told  me  as  much. 
And  now  you're  backing  your  ears  at  a  woman  a 
thousand  times  too  good  for  you  because  she's  had 
the  spunk  to  tell  you  that  she's  done  a  little  think- 
ing for  herself. 

"  I  suppose  it  never  has  occurred  ta  you,"  the  boy 
went  on  pitilessly,  "  that  there  are  still  a  few  ideas 
over  here  that  haven't  crept  under  your  American 
hat." 

"  But  —  but  — "  John  stammered,  feeling  as  if  a 
battering  ram  had  been  at  work,  "  you  do  not  un- 
derstand — " 

"  That's    what    you    said    about    your    mother. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

You're  a  fool,"  and  having  delivered  himself  of  two 
sharp  blows  at  once,  the  thunderbolt  stalked  away. 

This  time  John  did  not  attempt  to  overtake  him. 
If  injured  love  can  bleed,  the  added  lacerations  of 
more  deeply  flayed  vanity  produce  in  the  victim  a 
quality  of  torture  that  can  be  likened  only  to  the 
rubbing  of  saltpetre  into  the  new-made,  quivering 
abrasions. 

Until  to-day  John  thought  that  he  had  exhausted 
all  forms  of  anger,  resentment  and  despair,  but,  un- 
der Charlie's  vigorous  use  of  the  knout,  he  realised 
that  there  were  reserves  of  sensibility  hitherto  un- 
touched. 

Even  in  moments  of  his  most  poignant  grief  at 
losing  Inez,  there  had  been,  until  now,  the  strong, 
quiet  presence  of  Righteousness  to  lean  on.  At  least 
he  had  thought  it  Righteousness.  Viewed  now, 
through  a  boy's  clear  eyes  it  began  strangely  to  re- 
semble a  dunce,  wearing  a  priggish  countenance 
which,  with  reluctance,  he  began  to  recognise  as  his 
own. 

This  last  struggle,  though  cataclysmic,  was  brief. 
The  saltpetre  of  Charlie's  frank  remarks  brought,  in 
their  wake,  a  sort  of  Spartan  healing.  He  emerged, 
defeated  but  victorious.  Had  he  ever  read  Mrs.  Ab- 
bey's gift  of  Emerson,  he  might  well  have  quoted :  — 

"  Pride  ruins  the  angels 
Their  shame  them  restores." 

During  the  afternoon  he  wrote  to  Inez,  sending  it 
by  special  messenger,  to  ask  whether  she  were  willing 


CHARLIE  GIVES  ADVICE  208 

to  receive  him.  Her  answering  note  had  few  words, 
"  To-night,  at  eight." 

When  young  Abbey  came  home  John  met  him 
with  a  straightforward  look  and  a  hand  inquiringly 
extended. 

Seizing  the  latter,  Charlie  gave  it  a  mangling  grip, 
and  remarked,  rather  hastily,  upon  the  weather. 

"  You're  all  right,  kid,"  said  the  older  man. 
"  I'm  going  back  this  evening." 

"  Good  work ! "  grinned  Charlie.  "  And  while 
you're  there  I'll  celebrate  with  the  bunch." 


CHAPTER  XVI 
CHANGES 

INEZ  did  not,  as  had  been  her  pretty  custom,  speed 
down  the  long  salon  to  greet  him.  He  stared  down 
the  length  of  them.  Toward  him  came  no  visible 
presence  but  a  sort  of  heated  cloud,  a  wavering 
medium  that  beat  upon  his  ears  in  muffled  detona- 
tions, turning  him  faint.  He  grasped  at  the  door- 
frame nearest  and  knew  that,  but  for  its  timely  sup- 
port, he  would  have  fallen. 

"  Jean !  "  cried  a  low,  frightened  voice. 

He  groped  his  way  toward  it.  Up  through  the 
swirling  mist  a  white  face  stared, —  a  face  like  a 
drowned  white  rose.  He  gave  a  single  inarticulate 
cry  and  fell  to  his  knees  beside  her  chair. 

"  Ahe !  Ahe !  "  he  heard  her  sigh.  "  You  too  have 
been  ill,  my  poor  Jean." 

She  leaned  outward,  striving  to  pull  his  head 
against  her  breast,  but  the  effort  proved  too  great. 
Instantly  the  weak  arms  relaxed  and  fell  helpless. 

"  Inez !  Inez ! "  the  man  broke  out  in  terror. 
"You  look  like  death!" 

She  tried  to  move  her  lips,  to  smile,  but  uncon- 
sciousness had  closed  in. 

For  a  moment  he  thought  it  surely  death,  and  that 

it  had  come  to  both. 

204 


CHANGES  205 

The  need  of  summoning  assistance  finally  got  him 
to  his  feet.  He  had  opened  his  lips  to  call,  when 
the  tug  of  a  weak  hand  checked  him. 

"  No,  Jean, —  do  not,"  she  gasped.  *'  I  have  been 
ill,  but  I  am  better.  Hold  me  to  your  heart,  my 
Jean." 

He  caught  her  up  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

"  It  is  nussing  to  frighten, —  nussing  at  all,  now 
that  you  are  to  me  come  back,"  she  murmured,  dis- 
jointedly.  "A  leetle  glass  from  de  beeg  bottle  on 
the  stand, —  yes, —  you  'ave  it.  I  will  be  well  again, 
—  com/me  pa." 

He  placed  her  on  the  divan,  then  gave  the  glass 
of  cordial.  A  faint  tinge  of  red  showed,  at  once,  in 
lips  that  were  now  smiling. 

"  Oh,  Inez.  Oh,  my  darling ! "  he  almost  sobbed. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  were  ill?  Why 
didn't  you  send  me  word?  " 

"  It  would  'ave  not  been  better,"  she  told  him. 
"  Now  it  is  the  real  Jean  come  back, —  my  Jean, — 
my  love." 

"  Your  love ! "  he  echoed,  in  bitterest  self-scorn. 
"  You  mean  your  lackey, —  your  door-mat.  I'm  not 
fit  to  have  you  wipe  your  feet  on.  How  is  it  that 
you  were  willing  to  take  me  back  at  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  question  I  'ave  often  ask  to  myself," 
she  said,  a  glint  of  the  old  teasing  in  her  voice,  "  I 
ask  it, —  yes, —  and  always  the  answer, —  the  same 
answer  — " 

She  paused,  looking  deep  into  his  eyes. 


206  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  The  answer  — "  he  breathed,  his  own  eyes  like 
two  hungry  wolves  in  leash. 

"Always  is  dis, —  just  dis — "  she  whispered,  and 
drew  his  lips  down  to  her  own. 

It  was  many  weeks  before  either  dared  a  refer- 
ence to  the  issue  which  had  so  nearly  parted  them. 
John,  as  it  happened,  took  the  initiative,  prefacing 
it  by  a  recital  of  his  verbal  conflict  with  Charlie. 

He  did  not  spare  himself  a  single  word.  As  he 
talked  Inez  drew  one  of  his  strong,  slender,  nervous 
hands  —  the  hand  of  a  practised  draughtsman, — 
into  her  own,  caressing  it  soothingly.  At  some  par- 
ticularly uncomplimentary  phrase  she  cried,  "  Ahe, 
—  it  is  the  naughty  one, —  he  forget  himself,  so  to 
speak  to  my  Jean, —  my  poor  Jean." 

All  the  while  she  had  kept  her  white  lids  dropped. 
John,  now  craftily  peering  under  them,  caught  the 
suspected  twinkle. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you'd  enjoy  it,"  he  grinned.  "  And 
you  think  I  deserved  it,  don't  you  now  ?  " 

She  nestled  against  him  for  answer. 

"  Well,  I  did,"  he  admitted  frankly.  "  And  I  owe 
a  debt  of  gratitude  to  that  same  kid  that  it  will  take 
me  long  to  repay." 

"  Moi  aussi"  murmured  Inez  against  his  shoulder. 

He  bent  to  kiss  her.     "  I  understand,  dear." 

In  a  moment  more  she  raised  her  head  and  bending 
forward  slowly,  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees. 
She  often  did  this  in  thinking  deeply. 

John,  watching  her  face  change  gradually  from 


CHANGES  207 

its  sweet  love-flush  to  the  quiet  of  tender  brooding, 
wondered  what  was  coming  next.  It  was  the  chief 
of  his  many  delights  in  her,  that  he  never  knew. 

"  That  Sharlie,"  she  began  softly,  "  is  good. 
From  the  first  of  seeing  him,  I  felt  it.  Many  of  our 
American  men  are  so.  It  is  our  glory.  To  be  good 
and  clean  of  heart  —  that  is  of  one  great  thing  I 
love  you,  Jean." 

She  turned  to  give  him  a  long,  beautiful,  grateful 
look  at  which  John,  blissful  and  embarrassed,  could 
only  murmur  some  thick  masculine  denial. 

"  Pairhaps  you  'ave  not  yet  learned  this  of  your 
Inez,"  the  speaker  went  on,  her  voice  growing  more 
and  more  like  harp-strings.  "  But  of  all  things  in 
the  world, —  of  all  things  in  all  worlds, —  I  care  most 
for  that, —  for  only  goodness." 

"  Of  course  I  knew  it,  darling,"  John  answered, 
huskily. 

"  But  not  de  mere  church  goodness,"  she  pointed 
out,  her  earnestness  being  now  too  intense  for  the 
risking  of  any  misconceptions,  "  not  merely  de  large 
give  to  sharitee  of  some  American  millionaires, — 
not  orphan-asylums  or  ole  folks'  'omes, —  which  are 
of  de  devil, —  not  anything  wid  labels  paste,  or  beeg 
brass  drums  to  call  attention, —  but  the  real  good- 
ness here, —  deep  here, — "  she  freed  her  hand  to  beat 
with  it,  almost  passionately,  upon  her  heart.  **  Dat 
small  white  fire, —  dat  crystal  ball, —  dat  small 
bright  pinch  of  God  which,  when  it  is  there,  no  mis- 
take is  made  of  it.  Pairhaps  you  'ave  think  I  do 


208  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

not  believe  in  God."  She  paused,  her  dark  eyes 
burning  into  his.  He  could  see  how  her  nostrils 
quivered.  "  I  do, —  I  do!  "  she  blazed,  before  he 
could  speak.  "  And  if  I  seem  to  keep  the  silence  it 
is  because  that  the  God  I  worship  is  too  beeg  for 
my  little  talk  of  Him." 

John  drew  her  back  against  a  heart  so  filled  with 
love  that  it  hurt  him.  "  Don't  tell  me  any  more, — 
you  wonderful  white  angel!  I  understand  you  at 
last.  Now  you  must  let  me  speak." 

She  leaned  against  him,  closing  her  eyes.  He 
waited  until  the  last  excited  tremor  had  passed,  and 
then,  in  commonplace  words,  redeemed  by  their  utter 
sincerity,  he  began,  "  I  have  done  a  lot  of  thinking 
about  all  these  things,  as  you  already  know." 

She  gave  a  little  nod  of  assent  and  a  long  tremu- 
lous sigh  of  content. 

"  And  the  way  I've  figured  it  out  is  this  — " 

A  second  nod  filled  in  the  pause. 

"  Now,  more  than  ever,  the  one  safe  path  for  us, 
—  especially  for  me, —  since  it  is  the  only  path  you 
have  ever  taken, —  is  fearless  truth." 

She  stirred  impulsively,  then  forced  herself  back 
into  quiescence. 

"  I  was  a  coward  and  a  fool  to  run  off  at  the  very 
first  gun." 

"  No, —  no,"  she  interrupted.  "  Not  dose  bad 
names."  She  put  her  hand  across  his  lips. 

"  But  I  was.  I  insist  upon  it,"  he  said,  kissing  tho 
hand.  "  I  believe  I've  come  to  my  senses  now,  thank 


CHANGES  209 

Heaven,  and  it  was  due  chiefly  to  the  tongue-lashing 
Charlie  gave  me.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall 
never  make  that  particular  sort  of  ass  of  myself 
again." 

She  gave  another  gasp  of  protest.  "  Oh,  my 
poor  Jean!  I  weel  not  'ave  you  say  such  awful 
names." 

"  The  worst  of  them  are  over,"  he  laughed,  re- 
assuringly. "  Now  I  want  to  come  down  to  prac- 
tical ways  and  means." 

"  Mais,  oui, —  but  it  is  better,"  she  murmured. 

"  From  the  first  we  have  seemed  to  fall,  partly  in 
joke,  but  very  much  more  in  earnest,  into  the  posi- 
tion of  teacher  and  pupil." 

"  Yes.  You  'ave  been  my  grand  mcutre  du  Archi- 
tecture" she  put  in,  smilingly. 

"  And  don't  think  for  a  minute  that  I  intend  to 
resign  that  proud  position.  But  now  I  want  you 
to  start  me  on  a  new  and  very  different  course." 

She  studied  his  face  intently.  "  You  mean, —  in 
the  new  thoughts, —  the  opeenions  I  'ave  that  you 
did  not  like?  " 

"  Exactly.  In  other  words, —  a  course  in  up-to- 
date  sociology." 

She  looked  out  straight  before  her.  Deep 
thoughtfulness  quieted  the  changing  face. 

"  Whatever  your  theories,  Inez,"  he  went  on,  tak- 
ing one  of  her  hands  into  his,  "  I  want  to  familiarise 
myself  with  them.  I  want  to  read  all  the  books  on 
this  particular  subject  that  you  have  read." 


210  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

She  turned  to  him  quickly.  "  But  so  many  are 
in  the  French." 

"  Oh,  I've  thought  of  that  all  right,"  he  said,  with 
a  groan.  "  It  is  simply  one  more  obstacle  that  must 
be  overcome." 

Spurred  by  her  look  of  admiration  he  swaggered 
on,  "  I'll  tackle  it, —  the  written  and  the  spoken,  too, 
and  when  it  seems  about  to  floor  me,  I  just  stop  and 
thank  the  Creator  of  all  men  that  it  doesn't  happen 
to  be  Chinese." 

"  And  when  you  'ave  mastered  all  the  Gallic 
tongue  ?  "  asked  Inez,  now  doubling  up  with  merri- 
ment, "  will  you  condescend  to  go  wid  me  to  the  lec- 
ture?" 

"  The  lecture,"  cried  John,  as  if  affronted  at  a 
task  so  far  beneath  his  powers.  "  I  expect  to  take 
one  after  each  meal.  I'm  going  to  reserve  a  front 
seat  at  the  Sorbonne, —  and  most  specially  shall  I 
be  there,"  he  added,  with  a  scowl  of  deep  hostility, 
*'  when  the  lecture  is  to  be  given  by  your  idol,  Carant- 
Dozie,  damn  him !  " 

Inez  laid  her  soft  cheek  to  his.  The  odour  of  de- 
fiance and  brimstone,  hanging  about  this  last  re- 
mark, made  him  the  more  dear. 

"  You  are  never  to  regret  this,  Jean, —  my  Jean. 
It  is  the  splendid  thing  of  you.  For  my  part,  I  will 
ask  of  you  questions  in  your  thought.  I  will  listen, 
—  Oh,  so  'ard.  I  will  get  under  the  skin  of  you, — 
comme  fa."  Here  she  made  slight  graceful  motions 
that  suggested  the  donning  of  a  wet  bathing-garment, 


CHANGES  211 

— "  I  will  take  the  point  of  view  that  you  take, — 
if  such  is  possible.  But  we  will  try,  n'est-ce  pas? 
Each  will  lean  close  to  the  heart  of  the  other  one, — 
to  count  the  beating, —  to  love, —  to  onderstand. 
Shall  it  not  be  so,  Beloved?  " 

And  John,  feeling  that  now  indeed,  heaven  had 
no  better  things  to  offer,  found  ways  other  than 
speech,  in  which  to  answer  her. 

In  after  years  John  could  never,  in  looking  back, 
recall  the  moment  in  which  the  thought  of  union 
without  the  ceremony  of  marriage,  lost  its  horror. 
In  the  circles  in  which  he  and  Inez  moved,  it  was  al- 
luded to  as  casually  as  the  weather,  or  the  condition 
of  the  crops.  Familiarity  is  much  less  apt  to  breed 
contempt  than  lenience.  By  the  end  of  a  year,  all 
arguments  concerning  it  had  ceased.  When  discuss- 
ing their  joint  future,  the  terms  "marriage"  and 
"  open  comradeship "  were  indiscriminately  em- 
ployed. 

The  one  persisting  thorn  was  the  consciousness 
of  his  mother's  disapproval.  He  and  Inez  had 
agreed  that  a  question  so  delicate,  so  opposed  to  all 
of  Mrs.  Hemingway's  traditions,  could  not  be  dis- 
cussed with  her  by  letter.  John  would  have  to  go 
home  first,  and  "  talk  it  out."  When  the  dear  soul 
had  come  to  tolerate,  if  not  to  share,  these  new- 
world  views,  then  they  could  join  hands  openly,  be- 
fore "  God  and  Man,"  as  Inez  phrased  it.  Deep  in 
John's  heart  the  words  ran,  "  Before  God  and  my 
mother." 


212  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Since,  however,  nothing  could  be  done  until  his 
course  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  was  finished, 
John  brooded  as  little  as  possible  upon  the  vexed 
subject,  and  was  able  consciously  to  enjoy  his  pres- 
ent life. 

In  all  essentials  he  and  Inez  were,  even  now-,  a 
wedded  pair.  Their  thoughts  and  interests  were 
held  in  common.  Friends  spoke  openly  and  with  ad- 
miration of  their  devoted  love,  and  among  themselves 
whispered, —  with  commiserating  shrugs  and  lifted 
brows,  that  the  completion  of  the  perfect  union  was 
being  delayed  until  John  could  explain  and  receive 
the  consent  of  his  queer  little  Americaine  la  mere, — 
a  weird,  illiterate  person,  it  was  rumoured,  who>  hav- 
ing refused  to  come  to  Paris,  remained,  sternly  wait- 
ing, in  her  home,  an  almost  inaccessible  ranch,  some- 
where among  the  mountains  of  the  Far  West. 

Charlie,  being  necessarily  cognisant  of  the  whole 
affair,  would  sometimes  shake  his  blond  head  and 
mutter  that  "  Mrs.  Hemingway  would  never  '  stand 
for  it.'  Never  in  this  world  or  the  next !  " 

Once,  to  John,  he  burst  out,  "  It's  all  right  over 
here, —  or,  at  least,  it  seems  all  right  because  every- 
body thinks  so, —  but,  believe  me,  it's  going  to  be 
a  grey  horse  of  another  colour  when  you  get  back 
to  Delphi." 

The  end  of  John's  second  year,  and  of  Charlie's 
first,  in  Paris,  found  the  elder  man  busy  and  content 
to  the  nth  power  of  happiness.  Young  Abbey,  who, 
to  use  his  own  phrasing  had  "  been  too  busy  having 


CHANGES  213 

a  good  time  to  fall  in  love,"  was  scarcely  less  ecstatic. 
He  now  spoke  French  with  surprising  fluency,  and 
an  even  more  surprising  lack  of  all  grammatical  con- 
struction. He  had  friends  everywhere.  The  Prin- 
cess de  Brieux  continued  to  delight  in  him,  and  in 
the  Latin  Quarter  he  had  a  clientele  only  to  be  lik- 
ened to  the  bargain  counters  at  the  Bon  Marche. 

He  proclaimed  frequently,  and  in  loud,  cheerful 
tones  that  he  never  wanted  to  go  back.  His  pre- 
tence at  painting  —  long  since  a  joke  —  was  given 
up,  and  the  salary  meant  for  the  "  under-priced  in- 
structor," used  to  more  joyous  ends. 

At  one  particularly  convivial  banquet  he  an- 
nounced the  change, —  saying  that  he  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  was  not  meant  for  the 
drudgery  of  painting,  but  preferred  to  study  as  an 
operatic  star. 

The  company  grew  uproarious  in  commendation, 
and  insisted  that  he  render  his  entire  repertoire  of 
American  songs.  Dizzy  with  applause  and  the  mild 
French  wine,  Charlie  now  stated  his  intention  of 
writing  home  that  very  night,  in  order  to  notify  his 
mother  of  the  new  and  brilliant  determination. 

"  At  once.  This  moment.  Allans  enfant.  Hop 
to  it,  Caruso !  Bravo,  men  brave!  "  rose  a  medley 
of  laughter-shrill,  encouraging  young  voices. 

Charlie  looked  round  upon  them  —  his  blue  eyes 
filled  at  all  this  evidence  of  interest  and  good-will. 
Why  not,  indeed? 

Ink,  pens  and  stationery  were  brought,  the  lat- 


214  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ter  heavily  stamped  in  gold  with  the  insignia  and 
name  of  one  of  the  Capital's  most  spectacular  re- 
sorts. The  screed  was  written,  not  without  fre- 
quent prompting  from  the  merry  crowd  that  hung 
over  his  shoulders.  Being  sealed,  it  was  handed  to 
the  nearest  grinning  waiter  with  orders  to  put  on 
the  necessary  stamps,  and  get  it  off  by  the  next 
post.  The  waiter,  who  should  have  known  better, 
complied.  In  ten  days,  Charlie  received  a  cable, 
summoning  him  home. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JOHN  GOES  HOME 

DURING  the  third  year  Inez  published  a  book.  It 
had  been  undertaken  in  something  of  a  jesting  spirit, 
the  basic  material  being  the  copious  notes  on  Sociol- 
ogy made  by  herself  and  John  in  their  efforts  to  reach 
a  single  point  of  view. 

To  create  fictitious  characters  not  strikingly  un- 
like themselves,  to  weave  in  a  few  dramatic  love- 
scenes  and  inevitable  oppositions,  followed  easily. 

"  Why,  Jean,"  Inez  exclaimed  one  evening,  ruf- 
fling the  pages  of  the  thick  note-book  backwards, 
"  here  is  already  a  small  volume  of  our  thoughts  and 
arguments.  We  could  make  the  sport  of  adding 
imaginary  persons,  and  voila!  —  it  would  be  the 
modern  novel  all  complete.  Shall  we  attempt  it?" 

She  looked  toward  him  archly.  John  hesitated, 
even  while  returning  her  smile.  "  Doesn't  it  seem  to 
you  just  a  bit  personal?  "  he  fenced. 

She  laughed  outright.  "  Ah,  my  Jean.  That 
crust  of  convention.  Some  of  it  will  always  cling. 
If  I  make  the  book,  but  do  not  give  to  it  my  true 
name  — " 

She  paused,  leaving  wide  space  for  the  interroga- 
tion mark. 

John  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  his  satisfaction. 
215 


216  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  If  you're  willing  to  use  a  nom  de  plume, —  why, 
go  ahead." 

So  it  happened  that  the  small  craft,  painted  in 
blue  and  gold,  with  the  flag  of  the  French  language 
flying,  ventured  out  upon  a  public  sea.  The  pen- 
name,  chosen  after  much  debate  was  the  modest  one 
"  Jean  Pierre."  This,  as  Inez  pointed  out,  served 
well  to  represent  them  both. 

To  their  delight  and  surprise  the  book  was  a  suc- 
cess. In  a  few  weeks  it  threatened  to  become  a  lit- 
erary sensation.  The  writers, —  for  Inez  insisted 
that  it  was  quite  as  much  John's  book  as  her  own, — 
felt  like  two  mischievous  children  who  have  played  a 
successful  prank  upon  their  elders. 

Soon  came  demands  for  a  translation  into  Eng- 
lish. John  began  to  feel  less  pleased.  The  title, 
"  New  Sins  for  Old,"  which,  in  the  original  French, 
had  merely  a  sort  of  jaunty  flair,  appeared  now, 
when  printed  out  in  good  plain  English,  much  more 
as  a  bully  with  a  very  large  chip  on  his  shoulder. 

London,  and  then  New  York,  went  wild  over  it. 
From  these  two  centres  westward  to  little  Delphi  is 
a  far  cry,  yet  John  felt  increasingly  thankful  that 
the  author's  real  name  had  been  withheld. 

A  second  event,  following  close  upon  this,  and  even 
more  far-reaching  in  consequences,  was  brought 
about  through  the  medium  of  Charlie  Abbey.  That 
chastened  and  rebellious  youth,  still  kept  by  his 
mother  in  the  innocuous  desuetude  of  Delphi,  had 
found,  during  the  past  year,  his  sole  comfort  in  the 


JOHN  GOES  HOME  217 

pursuance  of  a  voluminous  correspondence  with  those 
more  fortunate  ones  whom  a  kind  Fate  allowed  to 
remain  in  Paris. 

Inez,  who  pitied  him  more  than  she  let  him 
know,  and  who  was  justly  indignant  at  the  tyranny 
and  self-complacent  ignorance  of  his  mother,  sent 
him  many  sparkling  screeds.  The  boy's  apprecia- 
tion was  almost  touching.  Generally  he  answered 
her  within  the  hour.  But  his  one  important  letter, 
the  one  destined  to  bring  about  revolutionary 
changes,  was  addressed  to  John  at  the  Ecole. 

There  was  to  be  an  enormous  hospital  built  in  the 
suburbs  of  Chicago.  Architects  from  all  over  the 
world  were  invited  to  compete.  One  of  the  instruc- 
tors under  whom  John  had  studied  while  in  Amer- 
ica, and  who  had  kept  in  some  sort  of  touch  with 
his  Parisian  work,  had  taken  the  trouble  to  "  run 
down "  to  Delphi  in  order  to  meet  his  ex-pupil's 
relatives  and  friends,  and  ask  them  to  join  him  in 
urging  the  young  man  to  come  home  and  bend  all 
his  energies  toward  winning  the  splendid  prize. 
There  were  vague  hints  as  to  an  "  inside  pull "  and 
"  straight  tips."  In  concluding  Charlie  wrote : 

"  You've  gone  ahead  over  there  so  fast  that  it 
won't  hurt  you  to  cut  the  last  year.  You  say  you 
won't  marry  Inez  until  you've  made  some  chink  of 
your  own.  Here's  your  chance!  Think  of  that 
waiting  angel.  Gee!  if  it  was  me —  But  I  guess 
I  had  better  restrain  this  sort  of  talk.  You  are 
dead  sure  to  get  the  hospital  if  you  work  hard  enough 


218  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

for  it.  I  saw  Mrs.  Hemingway  about  an  hour  ago. 
She  made  me  swear  not  to  tell  you  how  she  feels 
at  the  hope  of  getting  you  back  a  year  earlier,  so  of 
course  I  can't.  Pipe  the  virtuous  grin."  Here 
was  inserted  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  treed  "  Cheshire 
Cat."  "  By  the  way,  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  tell 
you  this,  either,  but  your  mother  is  not  looking  as 
well  as  she  should.  Nearly  three  years  of  separa- 
tion from  her  only  child  is  beginning  to  show  on 
her." 

With  this  Machiavellian  stroke,  the  letter  ended. 

That  evening  the  two  lovers  talked  until  long  past 
midnight;  and  when  John  finally  tore  himself  away, 
he  walked  on  light  air.  They  had  discussed  the  new 
and  startling  possibility  from  every  angle.  Each 
had  tried  to  outdo  the  other  in  calm  judgment,  in 
dispassionate  analysis  of  the  situation,  and  to  both 
had  come  the  conviction  that  it  was  to  John's  best 
interests  to  go  home. 

"  To  go  home  —  go  home !  "  How  his  heart  beat 
it!  How  his  feet,  speeding  back  along  the  hard 
French  pavement,  fell  into  the  rhythm,  "  Going 
home !  Going  home !  " 

Inez  would,  of  course,  come  too.  She  had  grown 
into  the  very  fibre  of  his  soul, —  into  his  daily  life. 
To  leave  her  behind  in  Paris  was  not,  by  either  of 
them,  considered  for  a  moment. 

The  first  practical  step  was  to  find  some  friend 
of  Inez  who  might  be  soon  going  to  America.  This 
John  insisted  upon.  When  Inez  smiled  at  his  de- 


JOHN  GOES  HOME 

mand  for  a  chaperon,  John  explained,  with  some  ve- 
hemence, that,  since  their  final  union  was  to  lack  all 
ceremony,  it  was  doubly  necessary  that  the  prelimin- 
aries should  be  above  reproach. 

By  good  fortune  it  chanced  that  the  Prince  and 
Princess  de  Brieux  had  been  called,  on  business,  to 
New  York.  The  four  friends  took  passage  together, 
and  a  happier  party  has  seldom  crossed  even  that 
wide  expanse  of  holiday-makers. 

John  remained  in  New  York  but  for  a  single  day, 
forcing  himself  to  take  the  midnight  train  to  Delphi. 
The  other  three  came  to  the  station  to  see  him  off. 
At  the  moment  of  parting  with  Inez,  a  feeling  of 
cold  terror  came  upon  him.  He  seized  her  in  his 
arms,  kissing  her  again  and  again.  The  low,  horri- 
fied protests  of  the  outraged  Princess,  the  wide  grins 
of  observant  negro  porters,  alike  were  powerless  to 
check  him.  He  knew  that  he  was  leaving  behind 
him  more  than  his  immortal  soul.  But  even  in  the 
midst  of  this  ecstasy  of  grief,  a  pang  of  remorse 
shot  through  him.  He  was  starting  toward  his 
mother, —  the  best,  most  loving,  most  unselfish 
mother  in  all  the  world.  Through  her  he  had  gained 
everything, —  even  love.  For  three  years  he  had 
not  seen  her,  and  now,  on  the  point  of  starting,  there 
was  no  room  for  anything  except  his  agony  of  separ- 
ation from  another  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  inner  conflict,  he  slept  soundly,  and 
woke  next  morning  well  into  middle  Pennsylvania. 
There  was  a  chaotic  instant  when  he  could  not  realise 


220  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

what  had  happened.  The  noisy  vibration  of  the 
train  was  that  of  a  huge  and  predatory  monster 
who  was  carrying  him  away  from  everything  he 
loved.  Still,  but  partially  awake,  he  released  one 
of  his  berth  blinds,  and  lay  blinking  under  a  brilliant 
morning  sun. 

The  scene  without  was  typical  of  the  farming  dis- 
trict,—  small,  neat  dwelling  houses,  great  lengths  of 
wire  fence,  windmills  with  flanges  of  corrugated  iron 
and  a  skeleton  frame  of  steel, —  and,  to  each  enclo- 
sure, the  dominating,  inevitable  red  barn. 

He  sat  up,  still  blinking.  How  clearly, —  how 
terribly  clearly,  it  all  came  back.  For  three  years 
the  aspect  of  his  homeland  had  not  been  consciously 
recalled.  Life  in  the  old,  new  world  had  been  too 
exigent,  too  brilliant  for  such  external  memories. 
What  was  happening  to  his  brain?  He  felt  indig- 
nant at  the  rude  power  of  this  ignored  familiarity. 
With  each  step  in  the  process  of  dressing,  the  lurch 
of  the  train  at  critical  moments,  the  waiting  his  turn 
in  the  dressing-room,  for  a  chance  at  the  mirror,  the 
florid  vulgarity  of  the  man  who  was  then  in  the  act 
of  shaving,  the  long  walk,  through  other  sleepers  all 
smelling  of  recently  awakened  humanity,  until  the 
dining-car  was  achieved,  the  easy  nod  of  greeting 
from  the  steward,  followed  by  the  drawing  back  of 
an  allotted  chair,  the  coffee,  grape-fruit  and  cereal, 
followed  in  most  cases  by  the  ham  and  eggs  of  an 
American  breakfast, —  the  disturbing  sense  of  help- 
lessness before  the  accretions  of  familiarity  grew. 


JOHN  GOES  HOME  221 

The  men  in  the  smoking-room  were  already  in  a 
heated  argument  over  some  national  issue  which  he 
did  not  understand.  Their  nasal  voices  chafed  him. 
Politics, —  stocks  and  bonds, —  money,  always  money, 

—  formed  their  themes.     He  began  to  realise  what 
the  Europeans  meant  when  they  spoke  of  his  coun- 
trymen as  a  race  of  money-mad  gamblers.     Several 
of  them  made  careless,  good-humoured  advances,  but 
when  John  admitted, —  in  a  hesitating  way  as  if  he 
had  begun  to  feel  already  that  it  was  a  misdemeanour, 

—  that  he  was  just  from  a  residence  of  three  years 
abroad,  they  frankly  turned  their  backs  upon  him. 
After  half  an  hour  of  this  nai've  ostracism,  during 
which  time  he  had  smoked  more  than  one  thoughtful 
cigarette,  John  rose,  and  adventured  down  the  long 
swaying  line  of  cars   in  search   for  his   particular 
"  Pullman."     The  porter,  genial  and  alert,  was  just 
putting  in  the  final  touch  of  a  freshly  covered  day 
pillow,  punching  it  dexterously  to  an  upright  posi- 
tion in  the  red  velvet  corner.     At  sight  of  its  ap- 
proaching possessor,  a  broad  African  grin  was  lifted, 
and  a  rich  voice  said,  "  Good  maw-nm',  Sir.     Fine 
mawnin'.     Yo5  seat's  all  ready  fer  you.     Ennything 
else  I  kin  do,  Boss?  " 

John  thanked  him  in  an  absent-minded  fashion, 
using,  unconsciously,  the  French  term  '*  merci" 
The  porter  stared.  His  grin  faded,  and  then,  with 
a  contemptuous  expression  he  hurried  off.  John 
was  in  his  black  books  also. 

As   the  train   sped   on,   John   felt  himself  being 


£22  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

squeezed  together  like  a  concertina.  He  was  con- 
scious of  an  almost  physical  constriction.  Paris 
began  escaping  in  a  long  nasal  whine.  This  was  the 
real  John  Hemingway,  this  Western  person  in  a 
Western  train.  Paris,  as  an  actuality,  was  still 
somewhere  far  behind ;  but  three  years  of  it  had  been 
too  short  to  stand  before  this  one  day  of  common- 
place verities.  Even  the  £cole  and  all  it  had  meant 
now  began  to  wheeze  out  from  the  ribs  of  the  con- 
certina. 

The  young  man  gave  a  low  exclamation  of  annoy- 
ance, and  drew  himself  upright.  It  was  absurd,  this 
yielding  to  a  fantasy.  If  all  else  vanished  there  was 
Inez.  Inez !  The  thought  blazed  like  a  star.  Here 
at  last  was  something  tangible,  a  necromancer's  wand 
to  keep  childish  imaginings  at  bay.  He  closed  his 
eyes  to  feel  her,  more  surely,  within  the  circle  of  his 
arms.  He  bent  down,  whispering  to  her  of  the 
strange,  unlooked-for  apparitions.  He  could  see  her 
reassuring  smile,  and  feel  the  light  comforting  touch 
of  her  sensitive  fingers. 

Throughout  the  morning  he  was  able  to  keep  her 
presence  near,  but  as  the  sun  went  lower,  its  long  red 
beams  reaching  toward  him  as  if  heralding  the  com- 
ing hour  of  home, —  the  gracious,  tender  image 
gradually  dissolved  to  make  place  for  one  less  beauti- 
ful, indeed,  but  no  less  dearly  loved. 

The  time  could  be  computed  now  in  moments. 
Constantly  he  drew  out  his  watch,  and  more  than 
once  held  it,  impatiently,  against  his  ear.  It  began 


JOHN  GOES  HOME  223 

to  seem  an  incredible  dispensation  that  he  was  to 
meet  his  mother  face  to  face  in  less  than  an  hour. 
It  was  impossible  to  read,  or  to  sit  still. 

The  porter,  having  been  placated  by  a  large  tip, 
hovered  near  with  whisk-broom  and  dusting  rag. 
His  efforts,  at  first  wary,  to  engage  the  silent  young 
man  in  conversation,  proved  unexpectedly  success- 
ful. John  was  thankful  to  talk  with  anybody  just 
now.  He  asked  questions  about  the  country  and  the 
development  of  the  little  town,  which,  here  and  there, 
slipped  past  them. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  no  Pullman  porter  knows 
anything  at  all  outside  of  the  routine  of  his  special 
car,  but  this  does  not  restrain  glib  and  apparently 
accurate  replies.  All  at  once  John  started,  and  al- 
most ran  his  forehead  through  a  window-pane.  He 
had  seen,  across  the  front  of  a  cheap  new  building  of 
red  brick  the  words  "  Delphi  Canning  Factory." 
"We're  here!"  he  ejaculated,  and  sprang  to  his 
feet.  The  train  lurched  slightly,  and  he  fell  back 
with  a  thud,  hoping  devoutly  that  the  porter,  as  well 
as  other  occupants  of  the  car,  would  ascribe  his  pre- 
cipitate action  to  the  train  and  not,  as  was  the  fact, 
to  a  strange  and  most  unmanly  weakening  of  knee- 
joints. 

Walter  Hemingway  alone  was  at  the  station. 
John  grasping  the  outstretched  hands  tried  hard  to 
see  only  the  broad,  welcoming  smile,  and  not  the  gen- 
eral air  of  prosperous  vulgarity.  There  was,  at 
Walter's  loud-checked  waistcoat,  however,  a  pro- 


224  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

tuberance  that  could  not  be  ignored.  His  black  hair, 
which  had  a  way  of  growing  in  long  locks  slightly 
curling  at  the  ends,  was  thinner,  but  the  bold,  rov- 
ing eyes  and  red  cheeks  were  unchanged.  Walter 
would  still,  among  the  majority,  pass  muster  as  a 
"  handsome  man." 

"  Needn't  waste  time  lookin'  round,"  he  now  said, 
as  he  observed  John's  swift  glance  into  the  waiting- 
room.  "  None  of  the  others  came,  not  even  Cora 
Whitman,  though  she  wanted  to."  Here  he  bestowed 
on  John  one  of  the  lewd  winks  so  well-remembered 
and  so  heartily  disliked. 

"  As  for  Charlie  Abbey,"  he  went  on,  laughing, 
"  his  mother  had  to  tie  him  in  the  barn  to  hold  him 
off." 

John  murmured  something  in  the  nature  of  a  ques- 
tion. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  explained  Walter  in  a  voice 
wherein  heartiness  and  a  certain  pitying  condescen- 
sion were  mingled,  "  all  of  us  talked  it  over,  and  we 
figured  out  that  it  would  be  more  —  more  —  con- 
siderate to  the  old  girl  at  home,  if  we  let  her  get  her 
hooks  on  you  first." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  my  mother?"  asked  John 
haughtily. 

"Sure!" 

"  She  wasn't  feeling  too  unwell  to  come  ?  "  the 
young  man  added  swiftly,  anxiety  overcoming  his  in- 
dignation. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !     She's  as  chipper  as  a  tomtit 


JOHN  GOES  HOME 

on  a  pump  handle.  Only  she  didn't  want  to  meet 
you  first  in  a  public  place." 

"  Naturally,"  said  John,  with  a  great  sigh  of  re- 
lief. 

A  new  thought  had,  apparently,  come  to  Heming- 
way. It  was  his  turn  to  glance  around.  "  By  the 
way,"  he  cried,  "  where  is  the  skirt?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Now  look  here,  old  buck ! "  exclaimed  the  other, 
with  a  ferocious  slap  of  peace  and  good  will. 
"  None  o'  them  Frenchy  fol-de-rol  airs  with  Uncle 
Walter,  see !  The  whole  town  knows  that  you're  en- 
gaged. Her  picture's  been  in  the  Delphi  Oracle. 
It  was  understood  that  you  were  to  bring  her  along 
for  your  relatives  to  look  over." 

John  was,  for  an  instant,  blinded  with  the  passion 
of  his  rage.  His  clenched  fist  stung  with  the  desire 
to  go  straight  for  Walter's  broad-based  nose.  Then 
his  brain  told  him  that  he  must  not  quarrel, —  that 
it  would  be  the  worst  thing  possible  for  Inez  to  begin 
their  campaign  of  reconciliation  with  the  enmity  of  a 
man  like  Walter  Hemingway.  He  fought  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  and  was  able  to  reply,  with  some  de- 
gree of  steadiness, 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond  is  to  remain  in  New  York 
for  a  week,  with  friends  who  crossed  on  the  same 
steamer." 

"  A  Prince  and  a  Princess,  ain't  they  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Walter,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  John.     "  The  Prince  and  Prin- 


226  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

cess  de  Brieux."  Under  his  breath  he  said,  "  That 
snobbish  ass,  Charlie  Abbey." 

"  Well,  here's  our  equipage,"  announced  Walter, 
as  he  strode  forward  and  paused  beside  a  new  and 
highly  coloured  buggy,  tied  near  the  curb.  "  No 
smelly  gasoline  trucks  for  mine!  Just  turn  your 
lamps  on  that  chunk  of  horseflesh,"  he  urged,  giving 
a  proud  wave  of  his  hand  toward  a  very  beautiful 
brown  mare,  who  had  moved  her  graceful  head  at  the 
approach  of  her  master,  and  now  whinnied  softly. 

"  Kentucky  thoroughbred,  gentle  as  a  lamb, — 
three  years  old  this  spring,  and  faster  than  a  prairie 
cyclone  eatin'  fire." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  horseflesh,  but  she 
seems  to  be  a  beauty,"  said  John. 

The  tone  and  the  words  were,  alike,  forced.  All 
at  once  the  arid  phantoms  of  familiarity  had  caught 
him  up  anew.  A  black  depression  enveloped  him  as 
in  a  cloud. 

During  the  short  drive  home  he  closed  his  eyes 
against  the  tawdry  architecture,  and  his  ears  to  his 
companion's  loud,  vulgar,  slightly  nasal  voice. 
Would  all  his  home  people  seem  as  remote  and  ut- 
terly unlovable  as  Walter? 

"  Here,  wake  up  !  "  cried  the  voice.  "  There's 
home,  and  your  mother  waiting  on  the  porch." 

John  obeyed.  He  felt  physically  ill.  He  saw  a 
shabby,  two-story  building  of  wood  which  needed 
painting  badly.  A  corner  gutter  hung  down  like  a 
straw  from  under  a  farmer's  hat. 


JOHN  GOES  HOME  227 

In  the  doorway  stood  a  little  figure,  grey-clad  and 
very  still.  He  peered  curiously  toward  it.  Was 
that  indeed  his  mother?  He  had  not  remembered 
that  she  was  so  small.  Now  she  was  moving,  and 
toward  him.  He  must  move  too.  That  was  his 
mother.  Time  swept  back  in  a  scimitar  flash,  point- 
ing the  moment  when  a  small  boy  on  a  farm  had  hid 
his  eyes  and  wept  because  they  told  him  it  was  his 
mother. 

He  advanced  mechanically.  A  mist  rose,  blotting 
everything  but  the  small  grey  shape  that  neared 
him.  He  heard  a  cry  and  saw  two  upraised  arms. 

"  My  son, —  my  son !  " 

His  head  went  down  to  hers,  and,  at  the  touch  of 
her  trembling  lips  upon  his  cheek,  all  strangeness 
broke  into  a  single  radiance,  shot  with  rainbow  hues. 

"  Mother !  "  he  cried.  "  I  shall  never  be  parted 
from  you  again, —  never  in  all  this  world." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
READJUSTMENTS 

SOCIAL,  Delphi  prided  itself  upon  its  savoir-faire. 
Mrs.  Abbey,  the  unchallenged  leader  in  all  higher 
culture,  had  bestowed  the  epithet.  It  was  noticeable 
how,  within  two  years,  Mrs.  Abbey  had  begun  to  find 
the  homely  English  tongue  inadequate.  French 
terms  cropped  up  overnight  like  mushrooms  on  a 
damp  lawn. 

When  Charlie  had  finally  set  sail  for  Paris,  the 
devoted  and  heroic  mother  made,  almost  immediately, 
the  announcement,  that  she  intended  "  polishing " 
her  sadly  neglected  French.  Years  before,  in  Bos- 
ton, she  had  been  almost  fluent  —  so  she  averred, — 
and  had  once  taken  part  in  a  Moliere  comedy, — 
expurgated.  Now  it  was  her  plain  duty  as  a  parent 
to  regain  the  tarnished  brilliancy,  and  Mrs.  Abbey 
never  shirked  duty,  no  matter  how  plain. 

The  intellectual  processes  of  this  worthy  dame 
were  not  carried  on  behind  closed  doors.  Rather 
did  they  resemble  the  nature-driven  activities  of  cer- 
tain bees,  condemned  to  build  and  store  within  the 
narrow  confines  of  glass  boxes,  for  all  to  see. 

With  somewhat  less  display,  various  other  mem- 
bers of  her  clientele  possessed  themselves  of  French 

228 


READJUSTMENTS  229 

text-books,  and  a  few  of  the  more  passionately  en- 
thused, of  Moliere. 

In  this  movement,  as  in  most  others,  Cora  Whit- 
man, still  "  unattached,"  became  her  aide,  her  first 
lieutenant.  At  the  end  of  six  months  the  younger 
woman,  inspired  by  the  smiling  commendation  of  her 
chief,  inaugurated,  in  the  big,  showy  Whitman  home, 
a  series  of  "  Friday  Afternoons  Fran9aise."  On 
these  occasions  no  language  but  French  was  allowed. 
Tea  and  all  other  refreshments  were  equally  Gallic, 
and,  had  the  ambitious  ladies  eaten  things  as  they 
pronounced  them,  it  is  certain  that  there  would  have 
been  a  single  gathering,  and  no  more. 

But  brains  and  digestive  organs  alike  survived. 
The  little  club  became  Cora's  hobby.  When  John 
Hemingway  came  back,  especially  if  he  were  really 
to  bring  that  foreign  woman  he  had  picked  up,  he 
should  not  find  Delphi  unprepared. 

And  now  John  was  back:  a  John  unaccompanied 
indeed,  but  a  John  so  improved,  so  genial  and  so  al- 
together glorified,  that  the  most  critical  and  reluctant 
of  observers  could  not  fail  to  realise  the  aura  of  a 
successful  love.  It  was  not  a  happy  time  for  Cora. 
Her  heart  became  a  bunch  of  grapes,  extremely 
green  and  sour,  hung  high  out  of  reach  of  a  fox  that 
never  glanced  toward  them. 

Meanwhile  the  young  man's  native  town,  true  to 
its  policy  of  generous  broad-mindedness,  flung  wide 
its  doors  of  welcome,  and,  with  splendid  restraint, 
withheld  even  the  most  oblique  allusions  to  "  prodi- 


230  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

gals "  and  "  husks."  In  the  various  banquets  set 
before  him,  no  veal  appeared.  As  Aunt  Clara  had 
said,  even  a  very  lean  calf  might  seem  to  John,  under 
the  circumstances,  as  a  reminder  of  the  fatted  one 
mentioned  in  Scripture.  Besides,  John  had  never 
liked  veal. 

Could  delicacy  of  sentiment  go  further?  Delphi 
thought  not.  Many  were  the  glances  of  self-con- 
gratulation exchanged.  If,  in  its  noble  attitude 
there  was  a  human  flaw,  it  might  have  been  found  in 
the  unconfessed,  but  all-too-apparent  misgiving  as 
to  the  recipient's  entire  apprehension.  John  could 
not  be  said  to  enter  with  an  air  of  grateful  humility. 

Emma,  of  course,  was  hopeless.  To  her  besot- 
ted mind  all  honour  given  to  John  shed  lustre  chiefly 
on  the  giver.  As  Walter  coarsely  phrased  it, — 
"  Emma  is  worse  begigged  than  ever.  I  honestly 
believe  she  thinks  that  boy  the  only  cock  that  ever 
cracked  a  shell.  The  rest  of  us  are  simply  piled  up 
for  his  dung-heap." 

Invitations,  none  the  less,  continued  to  be  re- 
ceived. John,  bored  to  death  with  most  of  them, 
strove  valiantly  to  simulate  appreciation.  His 
mother  had  long  since  abjured  anything  in  the  na- 
ture of  social  "  dinings-out " ;  but  she  was  eager  to 
have  him  attend,  and  to  question  him  next  morning 
as  to  "  how  it  all  went  off." 

Charlie  Abbey,  pathetically  glad  to  have  him  home 
again,  followed  the  hero  like  Mary's  traditional 
lamb.  John  was  no  less  glad  of  the  congenial  com- 


READJUSTMENTS  231 

panionship,  and  the  two  soon  fell  into  the  custom  of 
walking  home  together.  Once  out  of  doors,  under 
the  friendly  stars,  they  would  smoke  and  stroll  along 
contentedly  for  hours.  Often  it  was  in  silence,  an 
aromatic,  pulsating  silence,  which  each  could  have 
filled  up  with  the  other's  thoughts.  When  they 
talked,  it  was  of  Paris  and  of  Inez. 

As  Walter  had  crudely  informed  his  nephew,  the 
whole  town  was  aware  of  the  engagement  and  was 
"  on  its  nut  "  with  curiosity  and  impatience  to  get 
a  first  glimpse  of  the  fair  one  in  the  flesh.  Of  the 
actual  personality  of  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  Delphi, 
much  to  its  chagrin  and  disgust,  had  learned  practic- 
ally nothing. 

Charlie  had  been  discreet.  Little  had  been  "  got 
out  "  of  that  devoted  ally.  "  And  it  wasn't  for  any 
want  of  pumping, —  not  so's  you'd  notice  it,"  he  now 
told  John  with  a  grin.  "  Good  Lord !  How  the 
Old  Girl  and  Cora  went  for  me!  Cora  Whitman 
could  talk  a  buzzsaw  to  sleep ! "  His  sole  indiscre- 
tion, if  such  it  could  be  termed,  was  in  showing  Mrs. 
Abbey  a  photograph  of  Inez. 

"  It  was  that  lovely  one,  bending  over  a  vase  of 
lilies.  Somehow  it  seemed  too  beautiful  to  keep 
locked  up.  Mother  borrowed  it  for  a  day,  and 
when  I  had  given  in,  she  started  on  a  regular  stump- 
ing tour  with  it.  Some  old  cat  popped  it  into  the 
Oracle"  he  said  ruefully.  "  I  don't  believe  mother 
had  anything  to  do  with  that.  And,  after  all,  no 
harm  was  done,"  he  added,  hastily.  "  It  came  out 


232  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

in  the  papers  so  blurred  that  it  could  have  passed, 
just  as  well,  for  a  photograph  of  a  new  statue  to  Lin- 
coln with  slaves  crouching  at  his  feet." 

During  this  interval  of  social  lionising  John  was 
to  experience,  in  full,  that  peculiar  chastening  of 
spirit  which  is  the  lot  of  all  travellers  on  a  first  re- 
turn to  a  small  home  town. 

John  had  prepared  himself  in  advance  against  an 
expected  siege  of  questioning.  Fearing  that  his  in- 
dividual adventures  would  not  provide  sufficient  am- 
munition, he  had  gone  to  the  length  of  "  reading 
up  "  on  Paris  life ;  and  had  rehearsed,  in  private,  a 
few  descriptions  of  the  more  notable  buildings,  sup- 
plemented by  pictorial  post-cards.  It  would  be  tire- 
some to  a  degree  but,  as  he  resignedly  told  himself, 
he  could  scarcely  refuse  to  share  with  less  fortunate 
stay-at-homes,  these  crumbs  of  bounty. 

He  was  soon  to  be  undeceived.  Questions  were 
asked,  of  course.  In  the  case  of  men,  it  was  gener- 
ally, "  And  how  did  you  like  it  over  there  among  the 
frog-eaters?  "  followed  by  some  less  decorous  remark 
about  the  feminine  portion  of  the  gay  community. 
The  Delphi  ladies  restrained  their  queries  to  fash- 
ions, often  concluding  the  brief  dialogue  with  a  co- 
quettish, "  Didn't  you  used  to  get  dreadfully  home- 
sick?" 

No  one  at  all  showed  desire  to  be  instructed. 
Apart  from  his  mother,  no  one  seemed  to  care  how  he 
had  lived,  or  what  his  work  had  been.  At  each  of 
the  more  formal  dinings,  it  is  true,  the  hostess  felt  it 


READJUSTMENTS  233 

incumbent  upon  her  to  fling  out  a  few  hurried,  casual 
allusions  to  their  "  dinner-guest's "  long  absence 
from  their  midst.  If  the  word  "  Paris  "  had  slipped 
in,  it  had  the  effect  of  a  small  inward  panic,  to  be 
swerved  from,  as  Nile  dogs  are  said  to  lap  water  run- 
ning, lest  the  crocodiles  snatch  them.  No  hostess 
can  risk  a  monologue.  His  careful  preparations  be- 
gan to  appear  childish  and  absurdly  vain. 

But  since,  under  Inez'  tutelage,  he  had  developed 
a  certain  amount  of  humour,  he  was  soon  able  to  re- 
gard these  social  manoeuvres  with  less  vexation  than 
amusement.  The  processes,  at  each  table,  were  the 
same. 

When  the  initial  danger  was  past,  the  hostess, 
with  a  relieved  expression  stating  more  clearly  than 
any  words,  "  Now  that  is  over,  and  we  can  talk  of 
something  interesting,"  tossed  high  the  light  ball  of 
general  conversation.  Toward  this,  all  hands  were 
stretched.  John  learned  to  keep  his  under  the 
table.  The  others,  feeling  it  their  privilege  and 
duty,  rush  in  en  masse,  to  entertain  him. 

There  were  times  when  it  seemed  to  the  bewildered 
listener  as  if  each  of  the  company  had  been  keeping 
a  diary  which,  for  his  benefit,  had  been  recently 
committed  to  memory.  No  incident  of  Delphi  his- 
tory, from  May  Armstrong's  spectacular  divorce  to 
the  obstruction,  a  few  days  before,  of  Mrs.  Mc- 
Master's  kitchen  faucet  by  an  eel,  was  overlooked. 

Aunt  Clara  related  in  her  monotonous,  uninter- 
ruptable  voice,  all  minutes  of  all  church  meetings 


234  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

since  the  first  Sunday  after  John's  departure. 
Mrs.  Abbey,  more  painfully  cultured  and  precise 
than  ever,  gave  him  a  complete  synopsis  of  the  vari- 
ous Chautauquan  courses  she  had  been  attending, 
while  Cora,  eschewing  abstract  themes  for  the  con- 
crete, rallied  him  incessantly  anent  the  "  Fair  Inez." 
In  the  same  breath  with  some  overpointed  question, 
she  would  pretend  to  believe  the  foreign  fiancee  a 
myth.  John  felt  the  claws  under  her  giggling  ob- 
servations, and  might  have  become  indignant  but  for 
the  fact  —  a  realisation  which  came  slowly  to  his  as- 
tonished ears  —  that  Cora  was  prodigally  interspers- 
ing her  English  sentences  with  what  she  supposed 
French.  Her  shrugs  and  archly  lifted  brows,  in 
combination  with  the  unique  pronunciation,  forced 
John  into  a  fingernail  breaking  grip  upon  his  chair, 
in  order  to  keep  himself  from  the  disgrace  of 
laughter. 

The  airy  persiflage  chanced  to  be  released  at  a 
feast  to  which  young  Abbey  had  not  been  bidden. 
John,  almost  gasping  in  his  efforts  after  self-control, 
found  food  for  gratitude.  With  that  rubicund  and 
mirth-distorted  face  across  the  table,  social  disaster 
would  have  been  sure. 

Mrs.  McMaster's  engrossing  interest  of  the  mo- 
ment was  in  Woman's  Suffrage.  Valiantly  she  had 
announced  herself  as  one  of  the  "  Militant."  She 
wore  no  colours  but  the  purple,  green  and  gold  of 
the  English  Sisterhood  of  Furies.  No  tones  could 
have  harmonised  less  kindly  with  Mrs.  McMaster's 


READJUSTMENTS  235 

hard-bitten  countenance  and  clay-coloured  hair,  but 
vanity  is  a  small  sacrifice  for  a  heroine  to  make  for  a 
cause. 

Henry,  her  meek  and  silent  husband,  had  been  put 
into  the  same  significant  hues.  His  socks,  neckties 
and  handkerchief  borders  all  proclaimed  his  vassal- 
age. Across  his  narrow  chest,  where,  by  rights,  a 
porous  plaster  should  have  lain,  flaunted  a  wide 
ribbon  emblazoned  with  the  words,  "  Votes  for 
Women." 

The  McMasters'  dinner,  loudly  heralded  in  the 
Oracle,  needed  only  the  four  crouched  lions  of  Tra- 
falgar Square  to  make  it  international.  John  and 
Charlie  finally  escaped  with  their  lives,  but  each  had 
the  sensation  of  a  dog  who  has  just  shed  a  tin  can. 

In  his  own  home  which  was  becoming  more  and 
more  John's  refuge  and  haven,  the  young  man  suf- 
fered at  least  one  encounter  with  provincialism. 
Molly  McGuire,  more  rosy  and  less  three-legged 
than  he  remembered  her,  had  flung  toward  him  the 
single,  reproachful  query,  "  And  you  didn't  be  com- 
ing back  after  all  these  years,  Master  John,  widout  a 
kleek  at  old  Ireland  ?  " 

John  hanging  his  head,  confessed  the  misde- 
meanour, at  which,  on  the  instant,  Molly's  one  ray 
of  interest  was  quenched. 

Even  the  little  mother,  insatiable  listener  that  she 
was,  had  made,  against  his  coming,  her  own  special, 
tender  hoard.  She  was  passionately  fond  of  chil- 
dren, more  especially  young  babies.  John,  groan- 


2S6  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ing  within,  but  conscious  that  he  loved  his  mother 
more  for  the  infliction,  found  himself  pinned  into  a 
corner,  while,  before  him,  the  narrator  sat,  telling  of 
all  the  recent  newcomers  to  that  special  nook  of 
Babyland.  According  to  her,  each  had  been  more 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  and  more  marvellous  as  to 
mental  attainments  than  the  well-nigh  perfect  being 
that  had  just  preceded  it.  As  the  little  woman 
talked,  her  cheeks  grew  pink,  and  her  brown  eyes  be- 
gan to  glow.  John  had  seen  less  excitement  at  a 
sparring  match. 

"  And  oh,  John,"  she  broke  out,  as  if  the  words 
could  not  be  withheld,  '*  when  I  see  those  happy,  beau- 
tiful young  mothers, —  and  the  little  warm,  pink 
bundles  on  their  arms  — "  She  checked  herself, —  a 
hint  of  fright  in  her  upraised  face. 

John  leaned  over,  kissing  her  hand  as  he  had  often 
kissed  that  of  Inez. 

"  I  know, —  you  dearest  of  all  mothers,"  he  said 
unsteadily.  "  I  wish  it  just  as  much  as  you." 

A  draughting-board  had  been  fitted  up  in  John's 
bedroom,  and  already  he  had  begun  work  on  his 
plans  for  the  big  hospital.  Off  here,  alone,  his  long- 
ing for  Inez  grew  insistent.  He  needed  her  each  mo- 
ment. He  would  never  do  decent,  creative  work  un- 
less she  were  beside  him.  There  were  a  thousand 
questions  he  wanted  to  ask  her. 

Sometimes  he  would  glance  up  almost  expecting  to 
meet  her  bright,  intelligent  eyes.  Then  his  words, 
half-formed,  would  stammer  into  silence,  and  he 


READJUSTMENTS  237 

would  drop  his  head,  aching,  as  with  a  physical  pain, 
for  a  sight  of  her. 

They  wrote  each  other  daily,  and  besides,  made 
frequent  use  of  that  boon  for  all  lovers,  the  night 
lettergram.  Twice  she  had  asked  him  whether  he 
had  yet  spoken  to  his  mother  of  their  "  creed." 

His  first  answer  had  been  brief.  "  Just  now  such 
a  discussion  is  out  of  the  question.  My  mother  and 
I  are  never  alone.  But  things  will  settle  down 
shortly,  and  you  can  rely  on  my  speaking  at  the  first 
possible  moment." 

His  next  answer,  written  three  days  later,  was 
longer  and,  as  it  seemed  to  the  reader  who  bent 
troubled  eyes  upon  it,  rather  evasive. 

"  Don't  bother  that  dear  head  about  our  theories. 
They  will  take  care  of  themselves.  The  main  thing 
now  is  that  I  can't  live  many  hours  longer  without 
you.  I  have  made  some  sort  of  a  beginning  on  the 
hospital  plans,  but  feel  perfectly  flat  and  helpless 
without  your  inspiration.  Can't  you  possibly  make 
arrangements  to  start  west  a  day  earlier?  Mother 
is  almost  as  impatient  as  I  am.  Your  room  is  ready, 
even  to  the  flowers.  I  can  hardly  wait  for  you  and 
mother  to  meet  and  know  each  other.  She  is  the 
dearest  little  trump.  Everything  will  come  right 
just  as  soon  as  we  can  make  her  realise  how  serious 
we  are  in  our  new  beliefs." 

Inez'  reply  to  this  was  by  wire.  "  Am  too  deep  in 
engagements  to  come  earlier  than  planned.  You  are 
doing  all  of  us  injustice  by  not  making  some  tenta- 


238  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

tive  effort  to  prepare  the  soil  for  seeds  that  must  be 
implanted.     Inez." 

After  this  there  were,  from  her,  no  further  letters. 
On  the  following  Tuesday  morning,  John  and  the 
faithful  Charlie  were  at  the  little  Delphi  station,  try- 
ing to  hide,  each  from  the  other,  an  almost  paralys- 
ing condition  of  excitement  as  the  train  drew  near. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INEZ  IN  DELPHI 

HAD  John  been  an  ordinary  woman,  instead  of 
what  he  was,  a  somewhat  extraordinary  young  man, 
clean  of  heart,  right-thinking  by  instinct,  still 
troubled,  occasionally  by  qualms  concerning  his  im- 
mortal soul,  but  clarified  throughout,  as  it  were,  and 
at  the  same  time  deepened  by  the  two  best  gifts  of 
life:  love,  and  a  profession  which  enthralled  him, — 
had  he  been,  I  say,  instead  of  a  composite  of  these 
factors  a  mere  ordinary  woman  of  ordinary  social 
existence,  he  must  have  seen  an  underlying  reason 
in  the  unusual  haste  with  which  the  home-coming 
functions  of  welcome  had  been  crowded  into  the  first 
short  week  of  his  return. 

But  John  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  such 
conjecture.  He  accepted  the  kindnesses,  each  with 
cheerful  good  faith.  The  boredom  that,  indubitably, 
he  suffered,  was,  to  his  broadened  mind,  a  sort  of  in- 
ner equivalent.  Through  each  hospitable  door  he 
went,  striving  his  best  to  be  genial,  concessive,  and,  if 
not  to  feel,  at  least  to  simulate,  interest  in  the  cloud- 
bursts of  local  manna,  turned  loose  for  his  benefit. 
At  times  he  would  catch  himself  smiling  to  wonder 

what  Inez  was  going  to  think  of  it  all.     A  second 

239 


240  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

round  of  these  semi-family  gaieties  would,  of  course 
be  instantly  inaugurated  for  her  benefit. 

So  John  thought,  but  his  mother,  in  her  quiet 
domestic  corner  of  the  home  living-room,  knew  bet- 
ter. She  was  one  of  those  creatures,  all  too  rare, 
who  say  little  and  see  much.  The  meaning  of  all 
this  unusual  haste  had  been,  from  the  first,  quite 
clear  to  her.  The  women  of  Delphi  were  not  going 
to  accept  a  strange  woman  in  their  midst,  until  she 
had  been,  to  use  the  local  term  "  sized  up." 

For  more  than  fifty  years  Emma  Hemingway  had 
been  part  of  little  Delphi,  a  living  fibre  of  its  intri- 
cate, commonplace  social  growth.  It  is  only  fair 
to  assert  that,  had  she  possessed  on  the  instant,  an 
aerial  dictograph  to  follow  the  words  of  a  dialogue 
then  in  progress  between  Mrs.  Abbey  and  her  satel- 
lite, Cora  Whitman,  Mrs.  Hemingway  would  not 
have  been  surprised. 

John  and  Charlie  Abbey  had  left,  some  fifteen 
minutes  earlier,  for  the  train.  The  short  interval 
in  which  the  little  mother  was  to  wait,  seemed  to  her 
more  crowded  with  emotion  and  excitement  than  any- 
thing she  had  ever  experienced.  Of  course  the  whole 
town  was  aware  of  the  particular  moment  in  which 
John's  fiancee  was  to  arrive.  Ten  o'clock  was  an 
early  hour  for  housekeepers  to  be  abroad,  but  on 
this  particular  day  there  was,  by  strange  chance, 
a  veritable  epidemic  of  shoppers.  The  little  station 
was  not  in  either  of  the  two  retail  districts  of  the 
town,  one  "  across  the  river,"  the  other  and  smaller 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI 

being  on  the  more  strictly  residence  side  to  the  south, 
but  lay  about  midway  between  the  two,  and  quite  a 
noticeable  detour  to  the  west.  All  the  dry-goods 
stores,  bakeries,  retail  groceries,  markets  and  drug 
stores  of  Delphi  could  easily  have  been  purchased 
and  removed,  without  necessitating  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  the  station  at  the  end  of  High  Street,  just 
beyond  "  New  Bridge,"  and  yet  pedestrians  as  well 
as  those  in  motor-cars,  found  excuses  for  invading 
unfrequented  thoroughfares.  The  little  basket 
pony-phaeton  of  Mrs.  Abbey  was  especially  alert. 
Never  had  the  small  horse  turned  so  many  corners. 
The  mistress,  who  was  driving,  sat  up  with  her  ac- 
customed rigidity,  an  attitude  which  she  felt  due 
her  position  as  "  social  leader."  Beside  her,  more 
relaxed,  her  eyes  keen  and  shrewd  with  excitement, 
sat  Cora. 

"  There  go  John  and  Charlie  now"  cried  the  lat- 
ter. "  Turn  into  that  little  side-street,  quick, 
please.  I  don't  want  John  to  think  — "  She  broke 
off  in  a  nervous,  affected  giggle. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  the  streets  of  Delphi  should 
be  forbidden  us,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey  icily,  "  just  be- 
cause an  unknown  woman  is  to  arrive."  Neverthe- 
less she  pulled  the  left  rein  sharply. 

Once  within  the  secluded  street  there  occurred  a 
remarkable  exhibition  of  psychic  power, —  that  of 
the  human  over  the  brute  mind.  Neither  of  the 
ladies  had  spoken  since  the  vehicle  was  turned,  and 
yet  the  pony,  having  wheeled,  came  to  a  determined 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

and  most  intelligent  pause,  his  nose  toward  the  sta- 
tion, his  two  ears,  tilted  slightly  backward,  each 
pointing  directly  into  an  eager,  concentrated  face. 
Just  at  the  moment,  the  train  whistled.  Mrs.  Abbey 
dropped  pretence  with  the  reins. 

Cora,  by  this  time,  could  scarcely  breathe.  She 
sat  forward  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  seat,  so  pre- 
cariously near,  in  fact,  that  only  a  wiry  grasp  of 
two  gloved  hands  restrained  her  from  slipping  to  the 
floor. 

"  It's  stopped!  '*  she  panted.  "  John  did  not 
even  wait  long  enough  to  engage  a  hack.  I  wonder 
whether  he  is  going  to  walk  her  home." 

Mrs.  Abbey  did  not  see  fit  to  echo  the  wonder. 
Her  lips  were  tight,  her  eyes  like  small  green  burn- 
ing-glasses. 

The  train,  whose  terminal  coaches  alone  could  be 
seen  by  the  two  spectators,  shuddered  and  grated 
to  a  halt. 

"  We  are  to  be  congratulated,"  Mrs.  Abbey 
stated  crisply,  "  that  all  of  Emma  Hemingway's 
friends  have  shown  John  a  welcome.  It  was  due 
both  John  and  her.  But  when  it  comes  to  throwing 
wide  one's  door  to  an  unknown  person  like  this 
Madame  de  Pierrefond — "  she  paused,  emphasising 
silence. 

"  It  seems  a  little  queer  that  she  is  so  unknown," 
mused  Cora.  "  I  have  written  to  everybody  who's 
been  to  Paris,  and  might  have  heard  of  her.  Last 
week  I  wrote  again  to  Bessie  Pierie,  who  was  study- 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI 

ing  over  there  and  is  back  in  Chicago.  I  even  en- 
closed a  stamp,  and  told  her  that  it  was  very  impor- 
tant for  us  to  hear  something." 

Mrs.  Abbey  lifted  enquiring  eyebrows. 

"  No,"  responded  Cora  to  the  eyebrows.  "  No 
answer  yet.  It's  funny  how  everybody  avoids  men- 
tioning her.  What  seems  to  me  queerest  of  all,"  she 
went  on,  her  frown  deepening,  "  is  that  you've  been 
able  to  get  so  little  out  of  Charlie." 

"  I  am  not  the  sort  of  mother  who  condescends 
to  force  confidences  from  her  son,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey, 
"  but  I  must  admit  that  the  unusual  reticence  he  has 
displayed  is  far  from  reassuring." 

"  How  beautifully  you  always  word  things,  dear 
Mrs.  Abbey,"  exclaimed  Cora.  "  I  wonder  if  I'll 
ever  have  a  vocabulary  like  yours." 

"  It  takes  time,  my  dear,  and  much  thoughtful 
reading,"  condescended  the  small  great  lady. 
"  Then,  too,  you  must  remember  that  I  had  great 
advantages  in  my  youth.  I  was  born  and  bred  in 
Boston." 

Cora  sighed,  presumably  with  envy.  Her  light- 
coloured  eyes,  set  rather  close  above  a  thin-bridged 
nose,  had  never  left  the  station  platform.  Now  she 
gave  a  convulsive  start.  "  They  are  coming  out ! 
Charlie's  got  one  of  her  arms,  and  John  the  other. 
My,  I  did  not  think  she'd  be  so  tall  and  skinny. 
That's  her  all  in  grey.  Her  veil's  down." 

"  She's  lifting  it,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey,  and  then 
added  maliciously,  "  she's  lifting  it  to  kiss  John." 


244  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  How  disgusting!  I  didn't  think  that  people 
from  abroad —  Heavens,  she's  kissing  Charlie 
too!" 

"  Impossible !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Abbey.  "  She  would 
not  dare ! " 

"  But  she  has!  "  It  was  Cora's  turn  for  a  mali- 
cious chuckle.  "  And  there  are  two  negro  porters 
loaded  with  hand-baggage.  They  are  piling  them 
into  an  express  wagon.  Yes,  they  are  going  to 
walk  home, —  all  three  of  them.  Heavens !  Suppose 
they  should  come  this  way ! " 

"  I  regret  that  we  demeaned  ourselves  by  paus- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Abbey,  with  genuine  sincerity.  "  But 
now  that  we  are  here  our  only  course  is  to  remain 
still." 

"  Yes ! "  acquiesced  the  other,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  with  excitement.  "  They  won't  see  us  any- 
way. They  are  going  straight  up  High  Street." 

Their  fears  allayed,  the  two  women  gave  them- 
selves up  to  scrutiny.  "  If  that  travelling  gown  is 
the  latest  French  mode,"  remarked  the  elder,  "  then 
all  I  have  to  say  is  that  the  French  are  more  inde- 
cent than  they  were  when  /  was  last  abroad." 

Cora's  eyes  fairly  clawed  the  graceful,  retreating 
figure.  "  She  hasn't  a  petticoat  to  her  name!  I 
wonder  where  her  corsets  stop.  You  can  see  every 
inch  of  her  le  — " 

"  My  dear!  " 

"  Of  her  limbs, —  to  her  waist.     Poor  John !  " 

"  Poor   mother,   you   had   better   say,"    reproved 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI  245 

Mrs.  Abbey.  "  It  is  always  we  mothers  who  suf- 
fer." She  shuddered,  recalling  the  recent  kiss  be- 
stowed on  Charles. 

Meanwhile  the  three  friends,  swinging  along  as 
so  many  times  they  had  tramped  the  streets  of 
Paris,  oblivious  of  shoulder-stabbing  looks  and  hos- 
tile criticism,  laughed  and  talked  all  at  once,  like 
three  ecstatic  school  children  let  out  on  an  unex- 
pected holiday. 

"  Yes,  it's  Delphi  at  last,"  John  was  saying. 
"Rather  dreadful,  isn't  it?"  He  nodded  sideways 
toward  the  line  of  cheap,  new  buildings  they  were 
passing. 

"  Non!  It  is  not  dreadful,"  said  Inez,  indig- 
nantly. "  No  place  could  be  dreadful  that  is  the 
'ome  of  my  Jean." 

"  Wish  somebody'd  say  that  about  the  'ome  of 
her  Charlie,"  exclaimed  that  youth. 

"Ah,  my  poor  Sharlie!  Nevaire  you  min'!  It 
will  'appen  some  day  soon,"  comforted  Inez,  giving 
him  a  friendly  little  pat  upon  the  shoulder. 

This  innocent  gesture  having  been  observed  from 
upper  story  windows  by  six  typewriter  girls,  three 
clerks  and  two  bosses,  and,  from  the  pavement  by 
a  sauntering  contingent  of  as  many  more,  became 
instantly  the  sensation  of  the  day.  Within  an  hour 
the  whole  town  had  heard  of  the  shameless  way  in 
which  John  Hemingway's  Paris  "  girl "  had  first 
kissed  Charlie  Abbey  at  the  station,  and  then,  while 
walking  along  a  public  thoroughfare  had  suddenly 


246  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

flung  herself  into  his  arms.  By  noon,  there  were 
graphic  accounts,  all  from  eye-witnesses,  of  a  terrific 
combat  between  the  rival  lovers.  Rumour  varied 
only  in  which  combatant  was  supposed  to  be  the  vic- 
tor. Each  was  known  to  have  lost  at  least  two 
front  teeth,  gaining,  at  the  same  time,  a  black  eye. 

The  appearance,  later  on,  of  the  two  belligerents, 
obviously  unscathed,  walking  amicably  together 
along  Main  Street,  did  little  to  erase  the  lurid 
images  provoked  by  such  unusual  and  pleasing  gos- 
sip. 

By  this  time  the  three  friends  had  reached  the 
corner  of  Maple  Avenue,  a  wide  tree-shaded  street, 
upon  which  the  older  and  most  firmly  established 
aristocracy  of  the  town  had,  for  the  most  part,  its 
dwellings. 

"  So  that,"  said  Inez,  pausing  at  John's  touch, 
"  is  the  'ome, —  the  life-time  'ome  of  you,  my  Jean. 
Ah,  it  is  quaint.  There  were  no  Mansard  roofs,  or 
small  turned  pillars  in  the  South  which  my  child- 
hood knew,  only  white  gables,  and  long,  long  '  gal- 
leries '  with  columns  heaped  in  rose-vines.  I  have 
never  seen  houses  just  like  these.  But — "  she  has- 
tened to  add,  as  if  fearing  that  she  had  been  too 
critical,  "  I  shall  love  the  one  of  yours,  Jean,  just 
as  I  shall  love  Delphi  and  the  little  mother, —  just 
because  they  are  yours." 

"  There's  the  little  mother  now, —  coming  out  of 
the  door,"  said  Charlie.  "  Time  for  me  to  beat  it !  " 

He   turned,   hurrying   back   along   High   Street. 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI  24-7 

Inez  flashed  one  look  at  Jean,  to  show  her  cognisance 
of  the  boy's  delicacy,  and  then  breathlessly  said, 
"  Stop  here,  Jean.  Not  one  step  more.  I  wish 
alone  to  go  to  la  mere." 

John  nodded.  He  could  not  speak.  His  heart 
followed  the  swift-flying  grey  figure.  He  saw  the 
little  mother  in  the  doorway  shrink,  give  a  startled 
look  as  if  for  him,  and  then,  like  the  thoroughbred 
she  was,  advance  toward  the  gate. 

The  two  met  there.  For  an  instant  a  mist  blotted 
the  watcher's  vision.  He  dashed  something  bright 
and  warm  from  his  eyes  and  then,  to  his  relief  and 
satisfaction  saw  that  Inez,  instead  of  attempting  a 
melodramatic  embrace,  had  merely  taken  the  trem- 
bling, outstretched  hands  in  both  her  own.  During 
the  first  whispered  sentences  she  held  them  close 
against  her  breast.  Then  she  loosed  them,  falling 
back  a  little,  and  making  the  little  beckoning  move- 
ment of  the  chin  he  knew  so  well. 

Charlie,  far  down  the  street,  could  not  restrain  a 
single  backward  look.  The  three  figures  were  mov- 
ing along  the  cemented  path  toward  the  house.  Both 
women  were  gowned  in  grey,  and  John  had  an  arm 
about  each.  Just  before  they  entered,  the  man 
stooped  his  head  to  kiss,  first  the  mother,  and  then 
the  woman  whom  he  wished  to  make  his  wife. 

The  boy  broke  suddenly  into  a  rag-time  tune. 
His  young  heart  was  sweet  and  buoyant  with  what 
he  had  seen. 

If  shopping  had  been  a  forenoon  occupation  in 


248  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Delphi,  visits  to  Emma  Hemingway  obsessed  the 
afternoon.  Clara  came  in  to  borrow  sugar.  Mrs. 
McMaster  had  more  vegetables  to  deliver.  There 
was  scarcely  a  neighbour,  with  the  single  exception 
of  Mrs.  Abbey,  who  did  not  manage  to  find  some 
pretext  for  "  dropping  in.'* 

None  of  them  saw  Madame  de  Pierrefond.  "  Inez 
is  tired  after  her  long  trip,"  Mrs.  Hemingway  ex- 
plained to  each  inquirer.  "  She  is  in  her  room,  and 
John  wishes  her  not  to  be  disturbed." 

May  Armstrong  was  not  to  be  so  easily  put  off. 
"  Huh !  Where's  John? "  she  demanded,  in  loud 
tones  which  carried  to  all  parts  of  the  big  wooden 
house. 

Inez,  stretched  luxuriously  upon  a  couch  upstairs, 
with  John  very,  very  close  beside,  lifted  a  sparkling 
face,  and  pushed  John  back  that  they  might  listen. 

Mrs.  Hemingway's  answer  was  a  mere  propitia- 
tory murmur.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence  from 
May,  then,  rather  meaningly,  "  Oh !  In  that  case, 
I  had  better  not  keep  you  from  joining  them." 

"  First  rendition  of  the  Delphi  theme,"  groaned 
John.  "  Just  wait  until  Aunt  Clara  finds  out  that 
I  am  in  your  room  unchaperoned." 

Inez  sat  upright,  pushing  back  the  long  shining 
strands  of  hair. 

"  Do  you  really  mean,"  she  asked  incredulously, 
"  that  here  in  your  mother's  home,  and  we  openly, 
what  you  insist  upon  calling  *  engaged  '  " —  at  the 
word  she  gave  a  little  gesture  of  repudiation  — "  that 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI  249 

we  would  be  criticised  for  being  up  here  to- 
gether?" 

"Would  we?  You  just  wait.  You've  got  a  lot 
to  learn  about  Delphi." 

"  If  it  all  is  of  this  cheap  flavour,"  remarked  Inez, 
"  I  do  not  face  the  prospect  with  rapture." 

John  looked  hurt.  "  You  know  I  warned  you, 
darling,"  he  began,  but  she  checked  him. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  have  ever  mentioned  our 
beliefs  to  your  mother." 

The  young  man's  eyes  fell. 

Inez  gazed  at  him  for  a  long  moment,  then  leaned 
back,  her  own  lids  drooping.  "  Ah,"  she  mur- 
mured, speaking  as  much  to  herself  as  to  him,  "  it 
is  always  so.  You  men  will  slay  each  other  in  the 
field, —  you  fight  for  finance  and  for  commerce,  but 
women  must  battle  for  the  moral  issues.  Yes,  it  is 
we  who  fight  the  battles  of  the  soul." 

The  young  man  kept  silence  for  an  interval,  then 
rallying  his  forces,  he  took  her  in  his  arms.  "  Now 
look  here,  Inez.  I'm  not  the  shirk  your  words  seem 
to  imply.  I  am  going  to  stand  by  you  and  your 
principles  to  the  end, —  no  matter  at  what  personal 
sacrifice,  but  when  it  comes  to  breaking  a  thing  like 
this  to  such  a  woman  as  my  mother  — " 

In  his  instinctive  pause,  she  freed  herself,  leaning 
backward  with  one  hand  on  his  breast.  Her  eyes 
sought  his  almost  fiercely.  This  time  he  did  not 
flinch. 

"  I  have  tried  to  speak  to  her,  more  than  once ; 


250  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

but  so  far  I  have  simply  been  unable  to  find  words 
that  can  make  her  understand." 

"  She  is  not  stupid, —  your  mother,"  put  in  Inez 
quickly. 

"  It  isn't  so  much  a  question  of  stupidity  as  of 
utter  readjustment,"  said  John,  frowning. 

"  You  know  it  must  be  said  some  time.  It  is  the 
condition  of  our  union." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  And  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think 
that  coming  back  to  Delphi  has  changed  me." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  quivered  across  the  woman's 
tightly  drawn  lips. 

"  What,  then,  shall  I  think,  my  Jean?  " 

"  The  hardest  of  all  things  to  you,  dear, —  think 
nothing." 

At  this  her  eyes  flew  open. 

"  I  mean  by  that,"  he  explained,  in  some  embar- 
rassment, "  that  I  want  us  to  have,  say,  a  week  here 
together,  as  ordinary  engaged  people.  Oh,  I  know 
you  hate  that  term,  but  Delphi  knows  no  other.  I 
want  my  mother  to  have  at  least  one  week  of  happi- 
ness in  our  love.  Already  you  have  charmed  her, 
as  you  charm  every  one.  When  she  sees  for  herself 
how  fine  you  are,  how  sincere,  how  deeply  moral  — " 

"  Jean !  Jean ! "  gasped  Inez,  pretending  to 
faint. 

"  Well,  you  are.  It's  the  thing  about  you  that 
I  love  most.  Say  you  will  grant  me  this,  my  dear- 
est. One  week.  It  is  not  much.  We  kept  the  faith 
for  years  in  Paris." 


INEZ  IN  DELPHI  251 

"  You  say  well,  *  we  kept  the  faith.'  There  we 
were  under  no  false  pretences.  Here  in  Delphi  you 
deliberately  ask  of  me  to  be  the  'ippocrite." 

To  this  John  said  nothing.  The  troubled  look 
on  his  face  deepened. 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear,"  began  Inez  softly,  leaning 
nearer,  "  that  already  you  are  asking  me  to  violate 
my  own  sincerity.  If  my  truth  is  what  most  you 
love,  how  can  you  wish  to  desecrate  it?  " 

The  young  man  drew  a  long,  hopeless  sigh.  "  I 
can  see,  of  course,  that  it  might  appear  that  way  to 
you.  I  haven't  your  gift  of  expression, —  but,  in 
my  soul,  Inez,  with  the  memory  of  all  the  beautiful 
hours  we  have  spent  together,  and  the  hope  of  a  more 
beautiful  life  to  come,  I  feel  that  I  am  not  asking 
you  to  do  wrong." 

Suddenly  she  put  up  her  arms  like  a  child.  He 
drew  her  to  him,  kissing  her  again  and  again.  Then 
he  pressed  her  head  against  his  heart,  and  waited. 
Each  knew  of  the  battle  that  the  other  fought.  At 
last  she  said,  "  I  yield.  For  one  week,  I  shall  be  a 
'ippocrite," 

With  a  low  cry  of  joy  he  snatched  her  closer,  but 
now  she  slipped  away. 

"  You  will  go  now,  please.  I  am  more  weary  than 
I  thought.  Yes,  I  have  come  a  long,  long  journey." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  DELPHI  THEME  — IN  VARIATIONS 

BY  tea-time  —  among  the  conservative  in  Delphi 
the  six  o'clock  meal  is  still  called  "  tea  " —  Inez  ven- 
tured to  appear.  The  afternoon  had  been  spent 
alone  in  her  room.  In  response  to  Molly  McGuire's 
solicitous  inquiries  at  the  door-panel,  she  had  de- 
clared herself  still  resting,  but  already  much  re- 
freshed. To  Mrs.  Hemingway  she  sent  the  message 
that  she  would  be  downstairs  at  six. 

John,  forbidden  the  presence  of  the  beloved, 
sought  out  the  sympathetic  Charlie  and  went  for  a 
walk.  The  little  mistress  of  the  house,  between  her 
tide  of  visitors  and  the  preparations  for  supper,  had 
little  thought  for  other  things. 

Inez,  in  spite  of  her  mouse-like  quiet, —  Mrs.  Hem- 
ingway had  found  herself  listening  more  than  once 
for  the  sound  of  stirring  overhead, —  had  done  no 
"  resting."  The  first  day  in  a  new  environment 
is  always  trying.  She  had  censured  John's  light 
disparagement  of  his  native  town,  but  her  challenge 
had  been  quite  as  much  against  her  own  impressions. 
She  had  come  determined  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
She  had  hoped  sincerely  to  like  the  little  town,  to 
find  friendship  among  John's  friends,  and,  above 

all,  to  love  the  little  mother  whom  he  held  so  dear. 

252 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  253 

Though  an  American  by  birth,  Inez  knew  less  of 
America  than  of  any  other  civilised  land.  Her 
training  from  childhood  had  been  that  of  aristo- 
cratic Europe.  The  great  "  West "  had,  until  she 
had  met  and  loved  John  Hemingway,  been  to  her  a 
region  more  remote  and  less  interesting  than  Pata- 
gonia. 

Now  she  was  in  the  heart  of  it ;  and,  through  her 
union  with  the  man  she  loved  would  always  be,  in 
some  sense,  part  of  it.  A  faint  shudder  ran  along 
her  nerves.  She  shut  her  eyes  that  she  might  not 
see  the  commonplace  furniture  that  looked  at  once 
shabby  and  new.  All  of  the  houses  had  had  in  her 
eyes  that  same  look  of  shabby  newness.  There  was 
no  softness  anywhere,  no  mellowing  by  time.  The 
people  on  the  streets  had  been  dressed  with  some 
regard  to  recent  modes,  but  their  clothes,  too,  were 
shabby.  In  the  year  of  absence  Charlie  had,  to  the 
outward  eye,  at  least,  changed  and  cheapened.  His 
necktie  was  too  pronounced  for  the  best  taste,  and 
he  wore  yellow  shoes  of  that  unpleasant  American 
variety  with  bulging  toes,  tipped  with  a  horn  like 
that  of  a  young  rhinoceros.  Would  John,  too, 
change?  Was  he  already  changing? 

Inez  lay  back  at  this,  her  sick  eyes  closing.  The 
words  she  had  spoken  a  few  hours  earlier  came  back 
in  a  hollow  knell.  "  I  have  travelled  far."  There 
was  a  subtle  difference  in  John.  Delays  and  com- 
promises were  peculiarly  distasteful  to  Inez,  and  yet, 
on  the  first  day  of  arrival  John  had  forced  a  con- 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

cession.  For  a  week  they  must  play  the  parts  of 
conventional  lovers,  branded  with  the  large,  forbid- 
ding sign,  "  Engaged."  And  at  the  end  of  that 
week  ? 

She  did  not  dare  think  further.  Now,  all  alert 
with  restlessness,  she  got  to  her  feet  and  began  a 
hasty  unpacking.  Her  French  maid  had,  at  John's 
suggestion,  been  left  in  New  York.  "  There's  very 
little  dressing  done  in  Delphi  anyway,"  he  had  told 
her,  "  and  I  honestly  believe  that  mother  couldn't 
stand  for  Paulette.  You  see,  nobody  speaks  French 
out  here.  Molly  McGuire  would  certainly  wreak 
bodily  harm  upon  her." 

At  the  time  it  had  seemed  a  simple  luxury  to 
forego.  The  convenience  of  her  drawing-room  on 
the  Pullman  had  made  the  unusual  self-dependence 
easy;  but  here  in  the  big,  uninviting  room,  set  about 
with  trunks  and  hat-boxes,  she  felt  as  bewildered  as 
if  faced  with  an  intricate  piece  of  machinery.  She 
had  no  idea  in  which  of  the  boxes  certain  things  be- 
longed. All  had  heavy  straps,  and  the  physical  ef- 
fort needed  to  unloose  them,  did  not  increase  her 
equanimity. 

She  threw  a  mass  of  scented,  tissued  stuff  upon 
the  bed,  then  looked  about  for  closets.  There  was 
but  one.  No  clothes  hangers  were  visible;  only  a 
row  of  rusty  hooks  that  had  evidently  been  in  place 
since  John's  infancy.  When  she  attempted  to  open 
the  bureau  drawers,  the  corner  of  one  stuck,  leaving 
a  long  triangle  of  emptiness.  With  an  exclamation 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  255 

of  annoyance  she  finally  gave  up  the  attempt  to  re- 
adjust it,  and  leaned  to  the  lower  drawer.  A  handle 
of  this  came  off,  nearly  throwing  her  backward  to 
the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hemingway,  downstairs,  heard  the  slight 
stumble,  and  paused,  half  untying  her  gingham 
apron  strings.  Just  in  time  she  recalled  John's 
parting  injunction:  "Above  all  things,  Mother, 
don't  go  near  Inez'  room  unless  she  sends  for  you. 
You'll  learn  her  ways  in  time,  but  just  at  first  I'll 
have  to  coach  you.  She's  not  an  ordinary  woman." 
The  sweet  old  face  remained,  for  a  moment,  immo- 
bile in  a  troubled  frown.  Then  she  sighed,  and 
drew  the  apron  strings  together.  Of  course  John 
knew  best,  but  —  she  couldn't  help  wishing,  just  a 
little,  that  he  had  brought  home  a  woman  whom  she 
did  not  have  to  learn  about. 

Exactly  at  six  John,  having  had  Inez'  message  re- 
peated downstairs,  knocked  on  her  door.  He  was 
the  least  thing  uncertain  as  to  what  would  be  her 
mood.  He  did  not  underrate  the  sacrifice  to  prin- 
ciple that  she  had  made  for  him.  With  relief,  as 
well  as  pleasure,  he  heard  her  light  feet  moving  in- 
stantly toward  him.  She  flung  the  panel  wide,  and 
stood  still,  smiling.  John  gave  a  gasp.  "  Good 
heavens,  Inez !  I  should  have  warned  you."  Then 
at  her  startled  expression  he  laughed,  saying, 
"  Never  mind.  It's  all  right." 

"  But  what  was  it  that  at  the  first  you  thought 
not  right,  my  Jean?  " 


256  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Your  gown.  Women  here  don't  dress  like  that 
even  for  dinner,  and  this  is  only  a  tea.  You'll 
knock  mother  off  her  feet." 

"  Shall  I  change  into  street  clothes  ?  " 

"  Change !  Let  me  catch  you  at  it ! "  he  cried 
with  such  fervour  that  her  smile  returned.  "  You're 
the  loveliest  thing  on  earth  in  that  particular  frock. 
You  know  it  is  my  favourite.  You  make  me  think 
of  a  clear  brook  full  of  half-drowned  roses." 

"  Yes,  it  is  pretty,"  she  admitted,  looking  down 
with  frank  delight  at  the  exquisite  folds.  "  The  way 
the  pale  flowers  in  the  chiffon  seem  to  disappear  and 
then  float  back  to  the  surface  —  But  your  thought 
is  prettier  than  the  dress,  my  Jean." 

John,  by  way  of  acknowledgment,  lifted  her  hand 
to  his  lips.  He  did  not  seem  in  haste  to  move  from 
the  door. 

"  Well,"  she  questioned  brightly,  "  do  you  en- 
tirely forget  Mamere  and  —  tea?  " 

"  N-n-o,"  said  John.  Then  with  obvious  effort, 
"  Look  here,  Inez.  If  you  really  don't  mind  my 
suggesting  it  —  I  wish  you'd  pin  that,  er  —  open- 
ing, in  front  just  a  little  higher  up.  Mother  is  ter- 
ribly old-fashioned." 

Without  a  word  she  turned,  crossed  the  room,  and 
stood  before  the  dresser.  It  was  perhaps  as  well 
that  he  could  not  see  her  face.  The  beautiful,  long 
lines  of  the  throat,  once  the  ecstasy  of  a  famous 
Parisian  "  creator,"  were  gathered  in  an  awkward 
bunch,  and  thrust  through  with  the  first  brooch  that 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  257 

came  to  the  impatient  wearer's  hand.  All  grace  and 
symmetry  had  vanished.  Obliquely  in  the  blue- 
green  mirror  she  could  see  how  John,  his  head  hung 
in  a  boyish,  shamefaced,  yet  obstinate  manner,  hov- 
ered well  beyond  the  threshold. 

Still  wordless,  she  recrossed,  brushed  by  him  and 
commenced  the  descent  of  the  shabby  stairs  alone. 
The  man  hurried  after. 

"  You  don't  think  me  a  beast  for  asking?  "  he 
implored. 

"  A  beast?     By  no  means." 

"  A  prig  then,  which  is  far  worse." 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  one  thought  seemed  to 
be  the  keeping  just  beyond  his  reach. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  that  you  take  it  so,"  he  per- 
sisted, "  but  you  know  how  very  important  first  im- 
pressions are." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  smiled  icily,  and  there  was 
something  in  her  tone  which  kept  him  silent. 

In  the  lower  hallway  Mrs.  Hemingway,  inter- 
cepted upon  one  of  her  countless  domestic  errands 
between  kitchen  and  dining-room,  stopped  short  to 
cry,  "  You  sweet  thing ! "  Then,  flushing  at  her 
own  impulsiveness,  she  went  on,  "  I  don't  wonder 
that  John  fell  in  love  with  you,  my  dear.  I'd  be 
ashamed  of  him  if  he  hadn't." 

"  Well,  you've  no  need  to  be  ashamed,"  answered 
John,  beaming.  "  I  went  down  before  the  first 
glimpse." 

"  Just  step  into  the  living-room,  you  two,"  now 


258  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

suggested  the  little  housewife,  the  consciousness  of 
her  duties  suddenly  returned.  "  Tea  will  be  ready 
the  minute  the  buttermilk  biscuits  get  brown." 

"  Buttermilk  biscuit !  Come  on,  Inez.  They're 
worth  waiting  for." 

Within  the  "  best  room,"  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Hem- 
ingway's heart,  Inez  stood  still,  and  began  a  delib- 
erate survey.  John  with  quizzical  amusement  in  his 
eyes,  watched  her  changing  expressions.  He  knew 
well  that  the  wide  earth  could  not  have  yielded  a 
novelty  more  unexpected  or  complete. 

The  woodwork  was  all  in  black  walnut,  heavy, 
machine-turned,  and  arching  with  triumphant  gloom 
above  the  doors.  It  continued  around  the  room  in 
a  jutting  cornice,  giving  a  singularly  top-heavy  ef- 
fect, as  of  a  jug  partially  filled  with  dark  fluid  and 
turned  upside  down,  its  contents  mysteriously  sus- 
pended. The  wall  paper  which,  like  the  hooks  in 
the  guest-room  closet,  had  evidently  been  in  place 
for  more  than  quarter  of  a  century,  gave  out  hints 
that  once  it  had  been  a  sort  of  arrested  typhoon  of 
Japanese  fans.  A  dingy  plaster  medallion  centring 
the  ceiling,  expressed  its  raison  d'etre  in  a  pen- 
dent chandelier  of  cheap  bronze.  Originally  in- 
tended for  gas,  it  still  held  aloft  disused  and  yawning 
globes  of  frosted  glass,  while  underneath  hung  the 
pear-shaped  electric  bulbs  which  had,  so  arrogantly, 
superseded  it. 

Directly  beneath  this  silent  combat  of  the  old  and 
new,  stood  a  table,  oval  in  shape,  with  a  marble  top 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  259 

and  astounding  rosewood  convolutions  meant  for 
legs.  These,  near  the  floor,  joined  in  a  small  round 
disc  which  held  aloft  a  rosewood  urn.  One  of  the 
handles  was  missing.  John,  in  his  tottering  infancy 
had  committed  the  depredation.  Throughout  his 
boyhood  it  had  been  mended  and  been  knocked  off 
so  frequently  that  finally  his  mother's  patience  came 
to  an  end.  She  threw  away  the  recalcitrant  mem- 
ber, varnished  the  scar,  and,  not  without  a  sigh, 
abandoned  it  to  an  eternity  of  incompleteness. 

Before  the  east  window  stood  a  single-legged  oak 
stand,  supporting  a  glazed  jardiniere  and  a  sword- 
fern.  Up  and  down  the  sides  of  the  window-frame 
were  flower-pot  brackets,  separately  screwed  in,  and 
on  each  a  somewhat  dejected  growing  plant;  gerani- 
ums, climbing  asparagus,  and  a  "  crab-cactus," 
which,  judging  from  its  flaccid  pendency  from  the 
edges  of  its  pot,  had  kinship  with  that  variety  of 
Crustacea  known  as  "  soft-shelled." 

Inez'  eyes  softened  at  sight  of  the  pathetic  little 
indoor  garden.  She  wondered  whether  John,  too, 
were  thinking  of  the  exquisite  conservatory  in  a  dis- 
tant Paris  home,  and  of  its  presiding  elf,  the  tor- 
toise, which  had  been  once  their  friendship's  chap- 
eron. 

But  a  glimpse  of  a  large,  framed  lithograph  over 
the  mantel,  representing  "  Rock  of  Ages,"  in  the 
form  of  a  young  female  in  her  night  robes,  clinging 
desperately  to  a  mid-ocean  cross,  drove  out  the  ten- 
derness, and  left  only  keen  amusement. 


260  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Until  this  moment  John  had  never  thought  to 
criticise  his  mother's  drawing-room.  It  was  so 
much  a  part  of  her  and  of  a  happy  childhood  that 
he  had  accepted  it  without  aesthetic  questioning. 
Now  he  was  looking  at  it  through  the  perceptions 
of  another,  and  that  other  the  cultured,  over-fas- 
tidious soul  of  the  woman  whom  he  adored.  As  he 
had  spoken  on  the  street,  of  Delphi,  he  now  mur- 
mured, "  Rather  dreadful,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  quaint,"  said  Inez  guardedly.  "  Exactly 
what  period  of  interior  decoration  should  you  say 
it  belongs  to  ?  " 

John,  assuming  in  his  turn,  the  cautious,  with- 
holding manner  of  the  appraiser,  looked  slowly 
around.  It  all  seemed  now  so  tawdry,  so  trivial, 
even  so  absurd.  He  was  ashamed  of  the  feeling  as 
it  possessed  him.  The  realisation  that  it  was  the 
measure  of  his  personal  advance  in  taste,  could  not 
rob  him  of  the  sense  of  treachery.  In  his  boyhood, 
and  later,  too,  this  drawing-room  had  been,  for  him, 
a  nucleus  of  comfort  and  desirability.  It  was  al- 
most as  if  he  were  about  to  criticise,  feature  by  fea- 
ture, his  mother's  faded  comeliness. 

"  Well,"  he  finally  answered,  with  a  wry  smile, 
"  since  you  put  it  up  to  me  professionally,  I  should 
say  it  might  be  called  *  Early  General  Grant.' ' 

Before  the  echoes  of  Inez'  laughter  died,  Molly 
McGuire  thrust  her  tousled  head  in  at  the  door  to 
announce  supper. 

Each  dish  upon  the   well-filled  table   was   some- 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  261 

thing  by  way  of  being  a  "  special "  for  John.  Mrs. 
Hemingway  explained  them  all  in  turn.  She  had 
an  endless  fund  of  anecdotes  concerning  this  one 
idol  of  her  life.  There  were  little  jokes  between 
mother  and  son,  unintelligible  to  Inez  except  after 
much  laughing  elucidation.  The  gold  cake  with 
citron  and  raisins,  for  instance,  was  of  a  kind  that 
once  in  childhood,  John  had  stolen,  hiding  himself 
and  his  prize  in  the  hay-loft,  and  eating  with  haste 
and  determination  to  get,  for  once  in  his  life,  an 
overshare  of  this  most  coveted  of  dainties.  Mrs. 
Hemingway  recalled  the  various  remedies  needed  to 
restore  the  youthful  culprit,  and  how  many  months 
it  had  been  before  he  could  be  induced  to  touch  cake. 
In  her  fond  eyes  this  hiatus  was,  apparently,  the 
most  tragic  feature  of  the  episode. 

She  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  Inez  would 
be  as  much  interested  as  herself  in  the  fatuous  re- 
cital. John,  pleased  but  uncomfortable,  strove,  for 
some  time  in  vain,  to  stem  the  tide  of  anecdote. 

"  You  are  sure  that  all  the  neighbours  have  been 
in,  Mother  dear  ?  "  he  suddenly  demanded,  in  the 
midst  of  a  detailed  account  of  his  experiences  with 
whooping  cough.  "  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  that  the 
three  of  us  were  to  have  a  long,  uninterrupted  even- 
ing." 

"  Yes,  the  three  of  us,"  Inez  put  in,  eagerly.    • 

Mrs.  Hemingway  turned  off,  with  evident  reluc- 
tance, the  faucet  of  her  favourite  theme.  "  There 
is  no  one  else  to  come,"  she  answered  with  convic- 


262  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

tion.  "  Every  one  of  the  friends  who  are  intimate 
enough  to  drop  in  casually,  have  been  here.  They 
all  asked  for  Inez,  of  course,  but  I  would  not  let  her 
be  bothered.  Would  I,  my  dear?  "  She  turned  a 
sweet,  triumphant  face  to  the  beautiful  woman  be- 
side her. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,  dear  mother  of  my  Jean," 
said  Inez,  with  a  bright  smile.  "  And  for  it  I  thank 
you.  Merci  bien.  Do  you  suppose  they  will  all  be 
back  again  to-morrow?  " 

"  I  fear  they  will,"  said  Mrs.  Hemingway,  in  a 
deprecating  tone,  "  and  if  you  could  make  up  your 
mind,  dear  Inez  — "  She  broke  off  timidly. 

"  I  shall  see  each  one  who  calls  to-morrow,"  de- 
clared Inez,  laughing.  "  I  shall  wish  to,  for  I  long 
to  meet  all  friends  of  my  Jean.  But  to-night  it  is 
more  sweet  and  real, —  this  little  circle  of  our- 
selves." 

"  You  bet  it  is ! "  cried  John,  catching  the  hand 
nearest  him  and  pressing  it  to  his  lips. 

"  They  are  the  dearest  friends  and  neighbours 
in  the  world,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  but  even  I  am 
glad  that  there  are  none  to  drop  in  upon  us  this  first 
evening." 

All  at  once  John  sat  erect,  turning  his  head  a  lit- 
tle toward  the  street.  "  Oh,  Lord ! "  he  groaned. 
"  We  congratulated  ourselves  too  soon.  Or  is  that 
a  cow  coming  up  the  front  steps  ?  " 

Before  any  answer  to  this  ungallant  query  could 
be  made,  the  front  door  was  heard  to  open,  and  de- 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  263 

termined  steps,  firmly  spaced  as  those  of  a  grenadier 
on  parade,  thumped  toward  them  along  the  hall. 

"  Kate  McMaster ! "  gasped  Mrs.  Hemingway. 
"  Why,  she's  been  here  twice  already !  " 

"  Three  times  for  luck,"  quoted  John  in  bitter 
sarcasm. 

Kate  entered  boldly.  Her  face  was  crimson  with 
excitement,  and  she  was  attired,  even  to  the  cotton 
stockings  that  showed  above  her  heavy,  common- 
sense  shoes,  in  the  green,  purple  and  gold  colours  of 
her  Order.  At  a  respectful  distance  in  the  rear,  less 
a  shadow  than  a  suppressed  whisper  of  his  militant 
spouse,  minced  Henry. 

"  Good  evenin',  everybody,"  vociferated  Kate  with 
loud  cheer.  "I  was  just  on  my  way  to  a  suffrage 
meeting  down  at  Temperance  Hall — " 

John,  by  this,  was  on  his  feet.  "  Inez,"  he  said, 
interrupting  further  disclosures,  "  may  I  present 
Mrs.  McMaster.  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  Mrs. 
McMaster." 

Kate  strode  forward.  "  Pleased  to  meet  you,  I'm 
sure."  Then  to  John,  with  an  attempt  at  archness, 
"  What's  the  matter  with  '  Cousin  Kate'  ?  It  always 
used  to  be  '  Cousin  Kate  '  when  you  ran  in  at  my 
back  door  for  crullers." 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  Mr.  McMaster,"  pursued 
John,  conceding  the  repudiated  cousinship  by  the 
faintest  of  smiles. 

Inez,  hastily  freeing  herself  from  the  compelling 
grasp  of  Kate,  moved  around  the  table  toward 


264  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Henry.  Perceiving  her  intention,  the  little  man  took 
on  a  look  of  terror,  and  backed  slowly  off.  His 
small  eyes,  always  furtive,  now  literally  revolved. 
Across  his  chest  the  purple  diagonal  with  its  slogan, 
"  Votes  for  Women,"  pulsed  like  the  gills  of  a  dying 
trout. 

Kate,  wheeling  to  him,  uttered  one  "  tc'h'h ! "  of 
annoyance,  then,  catching  up  a  flaccid  wrist  laid  his 
hand  in  the  outstretched  palm  of  Inez. 

"  Where's  your  manners,  Henry?  "  she  demanded. 
"  Don't  you  see  Madame  de  Pierrefond  is  trying  to 
shake  hands  with  you? 

"  You  mustn't  mind  Henry,"  she  went  on  con- 
fidentially to  Inez.  "  He  means  well,  but  he's  timid ; 
and  he  ain't  very  strong.  I  have  to  nurse  him  like 
a  sick  cat." 

"  Come  and  take  this  chair  beside  me,  Henry,"  said 
gentle  Mrs.  Hemingway.  "  Maybe  you'd  like  a  slice 
of  gold  cake." 

"  No  cake  for  Henry,"  stated  Mrs.  McMaster,  in 
a  tone  that  settled  things.  "  He's  been  having  in- 
testinal indigestion  terribly,"  she  explained  to  the 
company  at  large.  "  Nothing  seems  to  give  him  a 
bit  of  relief,  though  he  tries  everything.  This  morn- 
ing I  caught  him  taking  my  Peruny." 

"  You  said  you  were  on  your  way  to  a  suffrage 
meeting  ?  "  put  in  Inez  hastily. 

"Yes,"  replied  Kate,  eagerly.  "That's  why  I 
came  by.  I  felt  sure  that  you  were  a  progressive 
woman,  and  would  want  to  attend  it.  We  have  a 


THE  DELPHI  THEME  265 

wonderful  speaker, —  Mrs.  Catt.  It  would  be  a  dis- 
grace to  the  town  if  we  didn't  get  a  full  house  for  her, 
and  I  knew  that  if  you  promised  to  attend  — "  She 
broke  off,  letting  the  genial  glow  of  her  smile  play 
about  her  victim.  "  Just  say  the  word,"  she  coaxed. 
"  The  meeting  doesn't  begin  for  half  an  hour.  I'll 
send  Henry  right  out  to  spread  the  news,  and  we'll 
have  such  an  attendance  that  people  will  be  climb- 
ing on  the  roof." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Cousin  Kate,"  said  John,  before  Inez 
could  speak,  "  but  Inez  doesn't  happen  to  be  a  Suf- 
fragette." 

"  John  does  not  mean  that  I  am  widout  sympa- 
thee  for  your  cause,"  Inez  hurriedly  amended. 
"  Onlee  that  I  do  not  take  the  active  part." 

"  And  even  if  she  did,"  John  declared,  "  she  is  far 
too  tired  to-night  to  attend  a  public  meeting." 

"  She  didn't  look  tired  when  I  came  in,"  said  Kate, 
suspiciously. 

"  That  was  because  of  the  great  pleasure  of  see- 
ing you  and  Mr.  McMaster,"  retorted  Inez,  with  a 
gracious  little  bow. 

John  fought  with  a  grin.  Even  Mrs.  Hemingway 
put  up  a  fragile  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  Then  you've  made  your  mind  up  not  to  go?  " 

"  It  is  Jean  who  my  mind  has  made  up  for  me," 
parried  Inez,  with  a  charming  glance  of  appeal  to- 
ward John's  set  face.  "  You  see  the  look  of  heem ! 
He  is  the  bullee.  Yess,  already  he  do  bullee  me." 

"  I  don't  consider  it  a  joking  matter,"  said  Mrs. 


266  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

McMaster,  in  strong  reproof.  "  You  should  take 
your  stand  for  individual  freedom  at  once.  It  is 
what  I  did.  I  should  like  to  see  Henry  bullying 

met" 

"  So  should  77  "  cried  John,  with  such  rude  fervour 
that  Mrs.  McMaster  became  an  angry  red.  "  Come 
on,  Henry,"  she  exclaimed,  taking  him  by  an  unwill- 
ing arm.  "  This  is  no  place  for  you." 

As  the  door,  and  then  the  front  gate,  banged,  John 
drew  a  long  breath.  "  And  that,"  he  said,  thinking 
of  the  cringing  Henry,  "  considers  itself  a  MAN." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL,  AND  INEZ  MAKES  A 
FRIEND 

THE  suffrage  meeting  was,  in  spite  of  Inez'  refusal 
to  attend,  a  large  success.  Its  executive  leader, 
Mrs.  McMaster,  had  not  been  above  disseminating 
the  advanced  report  that  Madame  de  Pierrefond  was 
an  ardent  "  Sister,"  and  would  almost  surely  be  one 
of  those  to  sit  upon  the  platform. 

Kate,  at  the  right  hand  of  the  great  speaker,  was 
only  too  conscious  of  the  many  glances  of  baffled 
hope,  but  she  met  them  stonily.  When  the  last  ad- 
dress was  over,  and  the  audience  began  a  slow  surg- 
ing toward  the  exit  door,  she  carried  her  head  like 
a  defiant  horse,  and  the  steel-coloured  eyes,  never 
concessive,  literally  flashed  a  challenge.  "  Don't 
any  of  you  dare  to  ask  me  why  that  French  woman 
didn't  come." 

Needless  to  state,  there  was  none  who  dared. 
Having  produced  her  effect,  Kate  became  more  gen- 
ial. To  a  specially  favoured  group  upon  the  steps 
she  stated,  abruptly,  "  Well,  I've  seen  her !  " 

Instantly  a  chorus  of  eager  voices  rose.  "  You 
did!  Oh,  Mrs.  McMaster,  what  does  she  look  like? 
Is  she  a  Suffragette?  What  did  she  have  on?  Was 
John  with  her?  " 

Moving  majestically  along  the  pavement,  her  in- 
267 


268  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

terlocutors  clinging  like  bees  about  their  queen,  Kate 
vouchsafed  replies. 

"  Ye-e-s,  she's  pretty  in  a  way,"  she  responded, 
having,  for  some  reason  that  will  be  easily  under- 
stood by  all  feminine  hearts,  selected  that  query. 
"  I  s'pose  she  is  what  you  might  call  pretty, — 
'specially  men  — "  A  suppressed  murmur  of  resent- 
ment could  be  heard. 

"  But  there's  something  queer  about  her.  She's 
foreign." 

"  She  had  on  wonderful  clothes,  didn't  she  ?  "  ven- 
tured a  gum-chewing  treble. 

"  Not  to  my  taste,"  averred  Mrs.  McMaster. 
"  They  were  all  clingy, —  sort  o'  flip-Happy,  as  if 
they'd  been  thrown  at  her  and  caught.  She  trails 
'em  around  like  wet  dishcloths.  I  like  an  upstand- 
ing woman,  myself." 

"  So  do  I,"  piped  the  treble,  drawing  back  her 
thin  shoulders. 

"  She's  got  a  bunch  o'  hair  about  the  same  colour 
as  mine,"  went  on  the  narrator,  tossing  her  un- 
covered head.  "  It's  piled  up  like  it  was  done  with 
a  pitchfork,  and  there's  so  much  of  it  that  I  sus- 
pect — "  She  paused,  feasting  her  ears  on  whispered 
exclamations. 

"  They're  great  on  false  hair  over  to  Paris,  I've 
heard,"  at  last  remarked  a  little  woman  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  throng. 

All  felt  that  that  special  point  had  been  disposed 
of  neatly. 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          269 

'*  But,  Kate,"  now  said  Mrs.  Droppers,  the  wife  of 
a  leading  Presbyterian  elder,  "  I  don't  care  so  much 
about  how  she  looks.  What  I  want  to  know  is 
whether  she  is  stuck-up,  or  nice  and  chatty.  Is  she 
what  you'd  call  a  homey  woman?  " 

Kate  sniffed.  "  I've  never  seen  one  of  them  for- 
eigners yet  you  could  call  homey.  And  as  I  said, 
she's  foreign." 

"  Yes, —  but  — "  parried  Mrs.  Droppers.  "  I  am 
certain  Emma  Hemingway  told  me  she  was  Ameri- 
can-born." 

"  I  believe  she  does  claim  to  be,"  admitted  Kate. 
"  Her  folks  came  from  somewhere  down  near  Noo 
Or-leens.  De  Pierrefond  is  her  maiden  name.  When 
she  was  divorced  from  that  German  count,  she  took 
her  own  name  back." 

Encouraged  by  sounds  of  excited  interest,  not  un- 
mingled  with  horror,  Kate  threw  to  the  gathering 
the  general  advice :  "  But  if  you  want  to  know 
about  her,  why  don't  you  go  and  see  for  yourselves? 
Emma  expects  it,  and  it  ain't  going  to  hurt  anybody 
just  making  one  call." 

Next  morning,  as  Kate  swept  her  already  immacu- 
late front  "  porch,"  she  was  greeted  by  a  masculine 
"  Hello !  "  from  the  street. 

She  looked  up  quickly,  flung  her  broom  handle 
against  the  wall,  put  a  few  instantaneous  touches 
to  her  hair,  and,  stepping  forward,  responded, 
"  Hello,  Walter !  What  on  earth  you  doin'  walking 
down  town?  Mare  dead?  " 


270  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  grinned  Walter.  "  Just 
thought  I  would  stroll  around  this  way  for  a  sight 
o'  you." 

"  Blarney ! "  retorted  Kate,  her  face  a  large  red 
peony  of  joy.  "  But  come  in,  do.  There  ain't  a 
soul  at  home  but  me." 

Walter,  after  certain  furtive  glances  up  and  down 
the  street,  opened  the  gate  and  moved,  with  a  lighter 
footfall  than  was  usual  with  him,  up  the  cemented 
walk. 

"  Heard  you  saw  the  fiancee  last  night,"  was  his 
first  remark,  as  together  they  entered  the  already 
opened  door. 

A  few  of  Kate's  outer  petals  feil.  "  So  that's 
what  you  came  by  to  hear,  is  it  ?  "  she  snapped. 

"  Oh,  old  gal,  keep  your  hair  on,"  laughed  the 
man,  and,  reaching  out,  gave  a  jerk  to  one  clay- 
coloured  wisp.  "  You  don't  want  to  get  jealous  of 
this  one,  too." 

"  I  should  say  not!  'Specially  since  she's  your 
own  nephew's  girl.  I  didn't  think  any  too  much  of 
her  on  that  first  glimpse,  but  it  was  as  plain  as  the 
nose  on  your  face  that  she's  perfectly  dippy  about 
John." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  acidly. 

"Let's  me  out,  eh?"  said  the  man,  good-hu- 
mouredly.  "  Well,  I've  still  got  you  and  May." 

Mrs.  McMaster  wheeled  from  him.  The  red  in 
her  face  was  no  longer  joy,  but  anger.  "  I've  told 
you  before,  Walter  Hemingway,"  she  cried,  "  that  I 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          271 

don't  want  May  Armstrong's  name  mentioned  in  this 
house.  She  isn't  a  fit  associate  for  a  decent  married 
woman.  The  way  she  follows  you  to  Chicago  every 
single  time  you  have  to  go  up  there  for  business  — " 
Tears  and  indignation  choked,  for  an  instant,  the 
rush  of  words.  The  man,  both  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  his  feet  well  apart,  watched  and  listened  in  con- 
temptuous amusement. 

"  The  whole  town  is  talking  about  you  two," 
Kate  went  on,  hysterically.  "  I'll  declare,  I  don't  see 
how  poor  Clara  stands  for  it.  Somebody  ought  to 
tell  her." 

Walter's  face  hardened.  His  full  lips  took  on  a 
cruel  sneer.  "  And  that  may  be  so,  too"  he  said 
slowly,  "  but,  Kate, —  under  the  circumstances,  do 
you  think  you  are  exactly  the  one  to  go  to  my  wife  ?  " 

The  woman  gasped  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  His 
meaning  was  unmistakable.  A  low  cry  came,  she 
bent  over,  hiding  her  eyes,  and,  as  the  first  loud  sob 
arose,  Walter,  with  an  oath,  took  flight. 

During  that  afternoon,  as  Mrs.  Hemingway  had 
predicted,  the  rush  of  formal  calls  upon  her  pros- 
pective daughter-in-law  began.  How  much  of  it  was 
due  to  mere  curiosity  and  how  much  to  Kate  McMas- 
ter's  encouraging  statement  that  one  visit  couldn't 
hurt  anybody,  the  gentle  old  lady  was  never  to  know. 
It  was,  in  her  eyes,  merely  the  proper  and  inevitable 
thing  that  the  better  class  of  Delphi  should  pay 
Madame  de  Pierrefond  this  courtesy. 

Cardcases,    long    since    fallen    into    disuse,    were 


273  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

brought  out  and  freshened.  Those  who  did  not  pos- 
sess engraved  cards,  printed  out  their  names  in  neat 
script.  There  was  much  neighbourly  consultation 
as  to  the  latest  and  most  correct  way  of  stating  the 
various  nomenclatures;  whether,  for  instance  the 
elder  Mrs.  Nettles  should  use  her  defunct  husband's 
initials,  or  subscribe  herself,  as  did  certain  arrogant 
New  York  and  Chicago  dames,  as  merely  "  Mrs. 
Nettles,"  leaving  to  her  son's  wife,  the  use  of  the 
prefatory  "  H.  T." 

Special  agitation  ensued  in  a  household  of  some- 
what elderly,  and  all  unmarried  sisters.  The  dig- 
nified written  words,  "  The  Misses  Cranch,"  had 
much,  indeed,  to  commend  them.  On  the  other  hand, 
as  Miss  Bessie,  the  youngest,  pointed  out,  a  single 
card  from  four  perfectly  good  people  seemed  just  a 
trifle  stingy.  They  might  even  be  suspected  of  hav- 
ing borrowed  it.  Along  with  the  cardcases,  that 
elusive  pose,  known  as  "  company  manners,"  was 
taken  out  from  sundry  moth-proof  nooks,  and  given 
a  preliminary  airing. 

Inez,  in  an  exquisite  house  gown  of  her  favourite 
pink  and  grey,  met  each  newcomer  with  the  ease  and 
grace  which,  in  Paris,  marked  her  as  one  of  the  most 
delightful  of  hostesses.  She  smiled  at  herself  in 
feeling  how  strong  and  genuine  was  her  desire  to 
have  this  charm  of  hers  "  make  good,"  as  John  would 
have  expressed  it,  in  this  little  Western  town.  But 
from  the  first  she  felt  herself  baffled.  The  ladies, 
singly  or  in  pairs,  stepped  into  Mrs.  Hemingway's 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          273 

"  best "  room  like  so  many  neat  little  hens,  perching 
themselves  warily  on  the  edges  of  the  stiffest  chairs. 
Their  conversation,  a  series,  for  the  most  part,  of 
small  staccato  interrogatives,  with  breath-suspended 
pauses  for  her  reply,  was  not  unlike  the  spasmodic 
cackling  of  those  estimable  birds. 

It  soon  became  evident  to  Inez  that  they,  no  less 
than  herself,  were  frightfully  constrained.  They 
showed  it  by  nervous  twitchings,  the  rigid  clasping 
and  unclasping  of  the  resurrected  cardcases,  and  the 
exchange,  when  they  thought  Inez  unobservant,  of 
wondering  and  critical  side-glances.  Accomplished 
woman  of  the  world  that  she  was,  Inez  had  never,  in 
the  thronged  courts  of  Europe,  known  such  a  sense 
of  helpless  embarrassment.  The  more  brilliantly  she 
talked,  the  more  aloof  became  her  listeners.  It  was 
soon  demonstrated  that  between  Mrs.  Hemingway's 
friends  and  herself,  there  was  not  likely  to  be  a 
single  thought  in  common. 

In  the  case  of  all  but  a  very  few  of  the  elder  lady's 
intimates,  Inez  received  alone.  Each  day  they  came, 
bewildering  her  with  monotony.  There  was,  ap- 
parently, an  endless  supply  of  curious-eyed,  common- 
place women,  varying  only  in  a  slight  difference  of 
clothing,  and  of  weight.  The  stout  ones  talked  most 
freely  of  their  children  and  their  housekeeping,  while 
the  meagre  sisterhood  appeared  to  have  a  vital  in- 
terest in  church  society  and  clubs.  Since  Inez  was 
unable  to  meet  any  of  these  points,  and  they,  on  their 
side,  were  utterly  indifferent  to  any  part  of  the 


274  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

world  east  of  Chicago,  all  conversation  soon  lan- 
guished. 

Inez  began  to  look  on  her  "  afternoons  "  as  a 
species  of  Inquisition.  It  was  difficult  to  hide  the 
chagrin  and  weariness  from  the  loving  eyes  of  John, 
yet  she  accomplished  it,  and  was  aided  in  the  fond 
deception  by  his  personal  conviction  of  her  success. 
"  Why,  Inez,"  he  cried  one  afternoon,  as  the  last 
pair  of  "  callers  "  rustled  down  the  cemented  walk, 
"  you  look  as  if  you  wanted  to  cry.  Now,  darling, 
you  mustn't  mind  being  bored  a  little.  It's  got  to 
come  to  an  end  soon.  But  mother  is  so  pleased. 
She  reads  the  cards  over  every  night.  And  think 
what  a  privilege  it  is  to  these  shut-in  lives,  just  to 
have  this  chance  of  meeting  a  wonderful,  brilliant, 
beautiful  thing  like  you." 

Of  them  all  May  Armstrong  alone  had  attempted 
to  take  the  citadel  of  friendship  by  storm.  She 
entered  with  a  sinuous  swagger  meant  for  grace. 
Her  costume  was  a  marvellous  affair  of  black  Span- 
ish lace,  through  which  her  muscular  arms  and  deep 
pink  neck  gleamed  boldly.  On  her  head  was  an  ex- 
aggerated picture-hat,  crowned  like  an  English  hearse 
with  feathers.  As  Molly  McGuire  opened  the  door 
to  her  ring,  she  was  heard  to  enquire,  loudly,  "  Well, 
Molly,  how're  you  and  Tim  getting  along  these 
days?" 

Tim  was  the  grocer's  boy,  a  bashful  Teuton  who 
had  long  worshipped  at  Molly's  culinary  shrine. 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          275 

The  girl's  answer  came  in  a  bashful  murmur,  to 
which  May  cried,  "  Good  work !  Keep  it  up !  It's 
a  lightning  transformation  from  a  best  beau  to  a 
husband.  Is  Madame  de  Pierref ond  at  home  ?  " 

Within  the  drawing-room  Inez  had  been  sitting  for 
a  long  half-hour,  before  the  dual,  astigmatic  lenses 
of  Mrs.  Todd,  the  Episcopal  preacher's  wife.  All 
the  Delphi  topics  had  been  tried,  and  all  found  want- 
ing. The  harassed  cosmopolitan  had  just  ventured, 
as  a  last  resort,  a  comment  on  the  architecture  of 
the  new  Presbyterian  church  then  in  process  of  erec- 
tion. But  Mrs.  Todd  showed  no  response.  Whether 
it  was  that  she  did  not  care  to  discuss  the  edifice  of 
a  rival  creed,  or  felt  that  architecture  was  too  friv- 
olous a  theme  to  be  connected  with  any  place  of  wor- 
ship, Inez  could  not  determine. 

Though  at  any  other  time  she  would  have  felt  only 
disgust,  the  loud,  vulgar  tones  of  the  newcomer, 
breaking  in  upon  a  social  vacuum,  brought  now  a 
promise  of  release.  The  hope  deepened,  as  Mrs. 
Todd,  getting  to  her  feet,  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper, 
"I  —  I  —  must  be  going." 

May  sailed  into  the  room  like  a  black  hawk  into 
a  hen  yard.  "  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Todd.  Haven't 
seen  you  at  church  lately." 

Then,  beaming  at  the  neat  thrust  just  given,  as 
well  as  in  anticipation  of  an  immediate  meeting  with 
the  much-talked-of  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  May, 
darting  just  before  her,  exclaimed,  "  We  don't  need 


276  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

any  introduction.  I  am  May  Armstrong, —  one  of 
John's  oldest  friends.  Of  course,  everybody  knows 
who  you  are." 

"  Good-bye,  Madame  de  Pierrefond,"  quavered  the 
little  matron,  extending  a  trembling  hand.  "  Mr. 
Todd  and  I  should  be  much  pleased  to  have  you  at- 
tend divine  service  at  our  church." 

Ignoring  the  smiling  Mrs.  Armstrong,  the  indig- 
nant lady  bore  her  small,  stiffened  spine  from  the 
room. 

"  Now  wouldn't  that  rattle  your  slats  ?  "  inquired 
May,  jovially.  "  She  avoids  me  like  the  plague  be- 
cause I  got  a  divorce.  The  'Piscolapeans  are  like 
that  everywhere.  You  have  heard  of  my  little  trip 
to  Reno?  " 

She  paused  for  the  reply.  Her  eyes,  bold,  free 
and  utterly  unembarrassed,  were  fixed  on  those  of 
Inez. 

"  I've  heard  of  Reno,"  smiled  the  latter,  tactfully. 

"  Well,  I've  been  there.  I'm  completely  Reno- 
vated," vouchsafed  the  caller  lightly,  as  she  threw 
herself  down  into  the  nearest  rocking-chair.  "  You 
smoke,  of  course?" 

With  the  tentative  question  she  began  to  detach, 
from  a  mass  of  hardware  that  jangled  at  her  belt,  a 
small  silver  cigarette  case  with  a  very  large,  staring 
monogram  "  M.  A." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Inez,  "  but  I  have  never  taken 
it  up.  Oh,  please — "  she  added  quickly,  at  the 
paused  operations  and  crest-fallen  look  of  her  vis-a- 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          277 

vis,  "  do  not  stop.  Nearly  all  of  my  friends  abroad 
are  the  great  smokers.  I  do  not  know  quite  how  it 
happened  that  I,  too,  did  not  so  become." 

"  Well,  take  it  from  me,  you're  losing  out,"  de- 
clared May,  after  her  first  luxurious  puff.  Inez 
watched  her  with  curious,  yet  pleasurable  interest. 
At  least  she  was  starting  on  something  besides  serv- 
ants, children,  spring  cleaning,  and  currant  jam. 
There  are  as  many  ways  of  smoking  a  cigarette  as 
of  wearing  a  hat.  A  tilt  over  one  ear  can  make 
the  most  rigid  sailor  brim  indecorous.  May's  man- 
ner of  partaking  of  her  small  vice  was  something 
halfway  between  the  brazen  puffs  of  a  chorus  girl 
at  a  risque  after-theatre  supper,  and  the  more  re- 
strained usage  of  New- York  drawing-rooms.  Inez 
wisely  decided  that  she  had  not  been  at  it  very  long. 

All  at  once,  behind  the  light  haze  of  smoke,  a  grin 
of  enjoyment  broadened.  Inez'  eyes  flew  open. 
She  looked  around  over  one  shoulder,  thinking  that 
something  noiseless  and  humorous  must  have  entered. 

"  You  needn't  rubber.  There's  nothing  there," 
laughed  May.  "I  was  just  trying  to  picture  old 
lady  Hemingway's  face  if  you  had  been  a  smoker, 
and  she'd  ever  caught  you  at  it." 

Inez  grew  more  astonished  than  before.  "  If  I 
did  smoke,  I  should  certainly  not  have  attempted  to 
hide  it  from  dear  Mrs.  'Emingway.  Why  do  you 
think  she  would  consider  it  so  dreadful?  " 

May  pitched  the  end  of  her  cigarette  across  the 
room  into  the  open  grate,  and  held  up  both  hands. 


278  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Think !  I  don't  have  to  think.  I  know!  There 
isn't  a  sin  in  the  commandments,  this  side  of  murder, 
that  would  shock  her  so.  They're  all  alike,  too :  — 
a  drove  of  scratching,  cackling  old  hens,  always  on 
the  other  side  of  somebody's  fence." 

"  But  in  a  case  which  is  so  entirely  one's  personal 
affair — "  ventured  Inez. 

May  regarded  her  in  solemn  silence  for  a  moment. 
"  Look  here,"  she  began,  "  I  like  you  and  I'm  sorry 
for  you." 

At  this  Inez  raised  her  brows. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  emphasised  the  other,  "  and  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  why.  You're  as  out  of  place  in 
this  burg  as  a  gilded  merry-go-round  on  a  desert 
island.  You're  up  against  it.  Everybody  is  whis- 
pering, criticising  and  gossiping, —  everybody,  that 
is,  except  old  Mrs.  Hemingway  who  never  says  mean 
things  about  anybody, —  not  even  me.  They're  all 
pulling  and  fingering  you  like  a  bunch  of  ragpickers 
at  a  dump  pile.  It's  a  damn  shame, —  that's  what 
it  is!" 

Inez,  after  a  short,  sharp  conflict  with  her  pride, 
asked,  "Do  you  mind  telling  me  just  what  sort  of 
things  they  are  saying?  " 

"  Why,"  fenced  May,  looking  for  the  first  time  a 
little  uncomfortable,  "  it  isn't  easy,  though  I  am  do- 
ing it  for  your  good.  Mrs.  Abbey  and  that  cat, 
Cora  Whitman,  are  at  the  bottom  of  it.  You  know 
Cora  has  been  after  John  all  her  life ;  and,  when  you 
corralled  him, —  well,  naturally  she  got  sore.  It 


DELPHI  DECIDES  TO  CALL          279 

seems  that  she  had  an  acquaintance  who  was  in  Paris 
studying  music  while  you  and  John  were  there.  Cora 
wrote  herself  stiff  in  the  wrist,  trying  to  get  some 
scandal  by  mail,  but  it  didn't  come.  Now  the  girl's 
back  home  in  Chicago,  and  has  been  persuaded  to 
visit  May.  She's  here, —  came  yesterday, —  and  al- 
ready the  town  is  buzzing." 

Inez  was  very  pale.  The  situation  was  already 
intolerable.  That  she  should  condescend  to  listen  to 
such  vulgar  rumours  was  bad  enough, —  but  to  en- 
couraging them,  as  now  she  was  impelled  to  do, — 
she  might  already  be  a  Delphinian. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  conceal  from  Mrs.  Abbey  or 
from  this  Miss  Whitman,"  said  she,  through  stiffened 
lips. 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  facts, —  it's  the  way  these  women  put 
things,"  cried  May.  "  I  ought  to  know.  I've  been 
through  enough." 

"  Do  you  mean, —  they  are  speaking  of  my  mar- 
riage? " 

"  Mostly, —  though  there's  something  else  I  haven't 
been  able  to  catch  on  to.  I  don't  pull  in  that  team, 
you  know." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  know  the  ladies  of  Delphi 
are  saying,  please?  " 

May  fortified  herself  with  a  second  cigarette. 
"  Well,"  she  stated,  "  the  worst  I've  heard,  was  that 
you  got  tired  of  marriage,  and  walked  out  of  your 
husband's  house  without  warning." 

"  Ah, —  and  they  sympathise  —  these  kind  women 


280  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

of  my  own  race  —  with,  of  course,  my  German  hus- 
band?" 

"  Sure  thing,"  said  May.  "  It  would  be  the  same 
if  he  was  a  nigger.  Anything  to  down  another 
woman." 

Inez  rose.  She  was  unable  to  remain  quietly 
seated.  A  sneer  curved  her  lips. 

"  And  of  course,  too,"  she  pursued  bitterly,  "  the 
good  ladies  picture  the  deserted  husband  as  waiting 
there  alone  in  our  beautiful  'ome, —  waiting  and  pin- 
ing for  the  return  of  his  errant  wife.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

"  They  didn't  hand  it  out  on  a  silver  tray  like 
that,"  said  May,  "  but  the  meaning  comes  around  to 
about  the  same  thing." 

"  Doubtless,  then,  they  will  feel  the  great  chagrin 
to  be  told  that  he  is  dead." 

May,  with  a  loud  exclamation,  got  to  her  feet. 
"  Put  it  there,  old  top !  "  she  cried,  extending  a  hand. 
"  That's  good  news.  Guess  I'll  spike  a  few  rusty 
guns  with  it !  Well,  so  long.  I  want  to  get  started. 
And  remember,  I'M  your  friend." 

At  the  gate  she  gave  a  large  gesture  of  goodwill, 
climbed  into  her  waiting  machine,  and,  pressing  the 
self-starter,  fluttered  away. 

Inez,  covering  her  face  with  both  hands  murmured, 
"  My  first  friend  in  Delphi, —  my  first  woman  friend. 
God!  What  is  this  dreadful  place  to  make  of  me?  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DR.  KELSEY 

THROUGH  the  intense  stillness  there  came,  from  May 
Armstrong's  big,  red  car  as  it  swept  into  the  nearest 
side-street,  the  long,  curved  wail  of  her  siren-horn. 
It  cut  the  air  like  the  stroke  of  a  scimitar.  Inez 
shuddered,  and  let  both  hands  fall. 

After  a  moment  of  quivering  inaction  she  gathered 
up  her  frayed  nerves  as  she  might  a  wind-tossed  heap 
of  skeins,  and  sped  across  the  room.  Her  one  de- 
sire now  was  to  be  alone.  Even  the  uninviting  guest- 
chamber  upstairs  offered  a  longed-for  refuge. 

She  gained  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  One  white  hand 
was  on  the  newel  post  when  a  rustle  came  from  the 
far  end  of  the  passage,  and  Mrs.  Hemingway's  voice, 
thin,  sweet,  and  now  unusually  tremulous,  called, 
"Oh,  that  you,  Inez?  I  thought  I  heard  May  go. 
John's  on  the  telephone,  waiting.  He  says  he  must 
speak  to  you  at  once." 

"  Please  say  to  him  — "  Inez  began,  frowning ; 
then,  with  a  hopeless  little  gesture,  stepped  down  to 
the  floor  level  and  moved  swiftly  toward  the  box 
telephone  which  hung  in  a  corner  of  the  dining- 
room.  Mrs.  Hemingway  kept  at  her  heels.  "  I'm 
sure  it's  something  "very  important,"  she  fluttered. 
"  John  sounded  so  —  so  sort  of  excited.  I'll  declare 

281 


282  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

I'm  all  of  a  tremble.  It's  something  about  the  hos- 
pital plans  for  Chicago." 

The  receiver  hung  at  the  full  length  of  its  green 
cord,  swaying  at  the  indignity.  Inez  caught  it  up. 
"  Yes, —  it  is  Madame  de  Pierrefond.  Ah,  John  — " 

Mrs.  Hemingway's  increasing  perturbation  de- 
manded the  relief  of  words.  Inez  found  the  double 
listening  not  only  difficult,  but  maddening.  In  an- 
other moment  she  would  be  in  hysterics. 

"  Yes,  John.  Why,  of  course.  At  any  moment." 
This  into  the  funnel-shaped  opening  of  the  box. 

"  What  on  earth  I  am  to  get  up  for  supper  for 
such  a  prominent  man  — "  panted  Mrs.  Hemingway. 
"  Has  he  told  you  yet,  Inez  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Mrs.  'Emingway,"  said  Inez  as  calmly 
as  she  could. 

"  No,  certainly  I  don't  mind.  It  will  be  a  pleasure 
to  go  over  the  plans  with  some  one  who  really 
knows."  This  again  into  the  funnel. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Kelsey  is  a  wonder!  "  came  John's  voice 
with  such  gladness,  that  it  went  past  Inez,  and  out 
into  the  room. 

"  What  shall  I  have  for  supper?  "  came  the  house- 
keeper's despairing  question. 

"  All  right,  John.  In  twenty  minutes  then. 
Good-bye." 

Inez  turned  with  some  relief.  She  had  not  much 
faith  in  a  "  wonder  "  bred  in  the  Middle  West,  nor, 
when  she  faced  the  tremulous,  appealing  little  woman 


DR.  KELSEY  283 

behind  her,  did  she  have  any  helpful  suggestions  to 
offer.  How  was  she,  Inez  de  Pierref  ond,  to  know  what 
Chicago  people  liked  to  eat?  But  at  least  John  was 
buoyantly  interested,  and  this  Dr.  Kelsey's  visit 
would  give  an  opportunity  to  discuss  something  be- 
yond the  narrow  personalities  of  Delphi. 

Again  she  started  up  the  stairs.  At  every  step, 
as  it  were,  her  skirt  was  caught  by  a  nervously  flung- 
out  remark  of  the  old  lady. 

"  It  looks  very  hopeful  for  John,  having  this  im- 
portant man  come  all  the  way  to  Delphi.  Doesn't 
it  seem  to  you  very  hopeful,  Inez  ?  " 

Inez,  two  steps  higher,  admitted  that  it  did. 

"  I  believe  broiled  chicken  on  toast  would  be  about 
as  nice  as  anything.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  decide  upon  is  sure  to  be  nice, 
dear  mother  of  my  Jean,"  asseverated  the  mounting 
figure.  Three  steps,  and  she  would  be  at  the  door. 

"  I  wish  you'd  put  on  that  dress  with  the  pink 
roses  half  hidden  in  it,  Inez.  That  is,  if  you  don't 
mind  my  making  the  suggestion,"  the  sweet  old  voice 
pursued. 

"  Certainly  I  do  not  object.  I  will  change  at 
once,"  smiled  Inez,  and  was,  at  last,  safe  behind  a 
closed  door. 

But,  even  now,  there  was  no  time  to  "  have  it  out  " 
with  herself.  The  dear  old  soul  wished  her  to  put 
on  another  gown.  The  one  she  already  wore  was  of 
later  mode, —  but,  if  Jean's  mother  wished — !  She 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  went  into  the  closet  of 
rusty  hooks.  She  had  only  just  begun  to  learn  how 
to  find  her  things. 

As  the  new  toilet  progressed  she  realised,  with  some 
satisfaction,  that  the  effect  of  May  Armstrong's 
words  was  already  paling. 

From  the  first  line  drawn  by  John  for  his  hospital 
plans,  she  had  been  his  counsellor  and  coworker.  It 
was  her  suggestion  that  some  one  part  of  it  should 
be  given  a  hint  of  the  proposed  interior  decoration. 
She  had  chosen,  for  the  experiment,  a  series  of  rooms 
meant  for  the  children's  ward;  first  a  great,  quiet 
chamber  for  the  very  sick,  a  second,  of  equal  size,  for 
convalescents,  and  an  enormous  sun-parlour,  tiled, 
with  the  glass  panes  all  frosted  in  delicate  designs 
of  vines  in  fruit  or  flower.  The  sick  room  she  had 
wished  to  do  in  soft  grey  tones,  the  colour  of  weath- 
ered cement  that  held  a  hint  of  sunshine.  The  wide 
frieze  was  to  be  painted  in  flat  tones  of  the  same 
neutral  colour,  shading  here  and  there  into  grey- 
green,  and  in  a  soft  lavender-blue,  simulating  a  con- 
tinuous row  of  the  wonderful  swathed  children  who 
have  made  the  name  of  the  artist  Luca  della  Robbia 
a  household  word. 

The  second  room  was  to  be  of  a  more  golden  tinge, 
the  walls  covered  entirely  by  a  shadowy  lattice,  at 
the  foot  of  which  great  masses  of  flowers  grew. 
These,  all  chosen  for  the  decorative  beauty  of  foliage 
as  well  as  blossoms,  were  principally  poppies, 
heaped-up  hydrangeas,  goldenrod,  hollyhocks,  and 


DR.  KELSEY  285 

tall  swaying  grasses,  all  done  in  flat,  soft  hues,  a 
little  less  brilliant  than  nature.  Among  the  stems, 
climbed  and  peered  small  woodland  creatures  such 
as  all  children  love,  bright-eyed  chipmunks,  squir- 
rels, "  bunnies  "  on  haunches,  or  nibbling  fallen  seed, 
green  lizards,  and  phlegmatic  toads,  while  off  in  one 
corner,  where  a  shadowy  stream  swept  through  ferns, 
a  family  of  otter  was  at  work,  and  quite  a  colony  of 
tortoises  sunned  themselves  on  a  fallen  log.  The 
frieze  for  this  room  was  a  composition  in  birds, — 
all  species  of  birds  from  Japanese  storks  hi  flight  to 
a  Baltimore  oriole  swinging  in  a  pendent  nest. 

Inez,  who  had  no  small  artistic  skill,  had  taken  de- 
light in  working  out  these  four  walls.  She  had  made 
countless  studies,  and  before  daring  to  put  the  four 
sides  together,  had  sought  and  gained  the  interested 
criticism  of  one  of  France's  most  famous  decorative 
painters.  What  joy  it  had  been!  And,  until  now, 
how  hopelessly  distant  had  seemed  the  old  Paris 
days  of  creative  work  and  happiness.  Of  course  it 
was  the  same  Jean  here  in  Delphi,  and  presumably 
the  same  Inez.  But  something  was  different,  some- 
thing wrong. 

A  sudden,  almost  terrifying  longing  shook  her  to 
escape,  to  go  back  at  once  to  that  genial,  busy,  intel- 
ligent Paris  which  she  knew  and  which  knew  her. 
She  was  parched  in  this  sterile  desert  of  the  common- 
place. That  very  day,  as  soon  as  the  Chicago  man 
was  gone,  she  would  tell  her  lover  that  she  could  en- 
dure this  little  town  of  his  no  longer.  His  people's 


286  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ways  could  never  be  her  ways.  She  could  be  won  and 
held  only  by  his  renunciation. 

As  in  a  vision  she  saw  the  astonishment  and  fol- 
lowing distress  in  his  eyes.  She  loved  him,  yes, — 
she  would  be  faithful  and  so  devoted  that  it  would 
more  than  compensate  for  all  he  must  give  up.  But 
life  for  her  in  America  was  out  of  the  question. 

Already  he  was  falling  back  into  old  ways.  She 
recalled,  with  something  like  a  sneer,  how  his  voice 
had  thrilled  as  he  spoke  of  Dr.  Kelsey.  A  Chicago 
"  Important,"  probably  just  a  larger  piece  of  the 
Delphi  male  fabric  with  perhaps,  a  louder  pattern. 
He  was  sure  to  be  fat  and  rich  and  complacent. 
What  would  such  a  man  know  of  Delia  Robbia,  or 
tracery  on  glass,  of  fairy,  fragile  vines.  Most  likely 
he  would  demand  a  frieze  of  pigs,  alternating  with 
American  eagles. 

She  heard  the  front  door  open,  and  John's  voice, 
still  with  the  triumphant  ring,  "  Just  step  into  the 
living-room,  Dr.  Kelsey.  I'll  go  call  Inez." 

So,  already,  to  this  Chicago  magnate  she  was  being 
spoken  of  as  Inez! 

"  Inez  is  coming,"  she  said,  a  little  caustically,  as 
she  began  the  descent  of  the  stairs. 

John  looked  up  radiantly.  "  You  are  the  most 
beautiful  thing  on  this  earth,"  he  whispered,  as  she 
joined  him.  "I'm  so  proud  that  I'm  bursting!" 

As  they  entered  the  living-room  he  still  attempted 
to  retain  his  clasp  of  her  left  hand.  Inez,  gently 
but  decidedly  removed  it. 


DR.  KELSEY  287 

A  small,  unremarkable-looking  man,  still  unseated, 
turned  toward  them. 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  Dr.  Kelsey,"  said  John, 
conventionally,  mindful  of  his  recent  rebuff. 

The  visitor,  meeting  Inez'  eyes,  his  own  bright, 
direct  and  entirely  at  ease,  stepped  slightly  for- 
ward, and  bowed. 

"  Oh,  come  now !  "  John  protested.  "  This  is  no 
Continental  drawing-room.  I  want  you  two  to  shake 
hands  in  the  good  American  fashion.  You  are  sure 
to  be  friends." 

"  With  pleasure ;  if  Madame  de  Pierrefond  gra- 
ciously permits,"  smiled  the  visitor,  and  as  Inez,  in 
some  wonder,  extended  her  hand,  he  went  through  the 
gesture  of  partially  raising  it  to  his  lips.  His  whole 
bearing  was  that  of  some  old-world  noble. 

"  Shall  we  sit  here,  near  the  open  fire?  "  said  Inez. 
"  I  find  these  spring  days  still  a  bit  chillee." 

Dr.  Kelsey  stood  directly  behind  the  chair  she  had 
indicated  as  her  choice,  and  not  until  she  was  entirely 
comfortable  did  he  make  a  detour  to  seek  his  own. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Inez ! "  cried  John,  unable 
longer  to  conceal  his  exuberance.  "  Dr.  Kelsey  tells 
me  that  the  hospital  committee  has  cancelled  all  other 
competitions.  They  feel  that  ours  is  so  satisfactory, 
there  is  no  need  of  looking  further." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  hear  the  word  *  ours,'  said  Dr. 
Kelsey.  "  Though,  of  course,  my  young  friend  has 
informed  me  concerning  his  most  delightful  partner- 
ship." 


288  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  This  whole  piece  of  good  fortune  is  due  to  just 
one  man,"  cried  John,  beaming  gratitude.  "  And 
he's  here  with  us  now." 

"  I  must  not  let  you  give  me  too  much  credit,"  dep- 
recated the  visitor.  "  It  is  true  that  the  committee 
were  kind  enough  to  take  my  point  of  view.  On  the 
other  hand  " —  here  he  looked,  with  kind  humour, 
from  one  young  face  into  the  other, — "  the  plans 
were  their  own  best  advocate.  Personality  played 
no  part  in  my  recommendation." 

Inez  did  not  realise  how  deep  and  thoughtful  was 
the  look  she  had  rested  on  the  face  near  her.  He 
was  so  utterly  unlike  anything  she  had  expected 
that  she  kept  thinking  there  must  be  a  mistake. 
This  man,  with  his  keen,  dark  eyes,  his  voice  as 
gently  modulated  and  more  correct  than  her  own, 
his  perfect  English  clothes,  and  well-kept  sensitive 
hands,  might  have  just  stepped  from  one  of  the  most 
exclusive  clubs  in  London. 

She  was  brought  to  herself  by  a  nervous  little 
clearing  of  the  throat  from  John.  "  Dr.  Kelsey  is 
most  kind,"  she  murmured. 

"  From  the  moment  I  unrolled  these  plans,"  went 
on  the  doctor's  quiet,  assured  tones,  "  I  noted  a  dif- 
ference. It  was  intangible,  and  yet  unmistakable. 
There  are  still  a  few  suggestions  I  would  like  to 
make,"  he  interposed,  but  with  a  smile  that  robbed 
his  words  of  all  hostile  criticism.  "  In  spite  of 
the  slight  faults,  they  caught  and  held  me.  The 
others  were  all  more  or  less  clever  manufactures; 


DR.  KELSEY  289 

these  alone  had  an  inner  vitality.  They  had  grown 
from  a  first  thought.  It  is  the  difference  between 
realistic  scene  painting  and  a  growing  copse." 

Inez'  eyes  kindled  as  she  leaned  toward  the 
speaker.  She  felt  a  strange  elation,  a  strange  kin- 
ship with  this  man,  so  recently  unknown.  "  There 
is  life  in  those  plans,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  We  two, 
we  two  together,  have  put  love  and  work  and  hope 
into  them.  It  is  as  if  they  were  our  child." 

"  What  wonder  then,"  answered  the  man,  his  own 
eyes  glowing,  "  that  the  others  had  no  chance?  " 

Inez  unconsciously  pressed  her  hand  against  her 
throat.  "  Is  that  not  in  all  things  the  great  mys- 
tery ?  "  she  whispered.  "  The  talisman  that  makes 
unreality  real,  the  vital  principle  that  transmutes 
even  death  into  a  resurrection  ?  Life, —  freedom, — 
the  development  of  the  individual  soul, —  the  power 
to  infuse  even  a  fibre  of  that  imperishable  essence." 

The  doctor  bowed  his  head  a  little.  John  waited 
breathlessly  to  hear  his  words. 

When  he  spoke  it  was  in  a  tone  of  reverence.  "  A 
great  writer,  one  now  passed  into  the  Shining  Be- 
yond, but  whom  it  was  my  inestimable  privilege  to 
know  on  earth,  once  wrote,  *  Man  is  a  pungent  es- 
sence.' That  says  it  all." 

There  followed  a  moment  of  profound  silence.  The 
air  about  them  seemed  to  vibrate  and  to  thrill.  From 
the  kitchen  came  the  muffled  voices  of  Molly  McGuire 
and  her  mistress.  They  had  the  sound  of  a  dull 
thudding  upon  hollow  wood. 


290  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

With  an  effort  Dr.  Kelsey  roused  himself.  "  But 
we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  wander  too  far  into 
Olympus.  Our  concrete  bit  of  it  is  before  us  in  the 
form  of  plans.  Shall  I  confess,  madame,"  he  said 
more  directly  to  Inez,  "  that  my  first  interest  wag 
caught  and  held  by  your  very  beautiful  mural  sug- 
gestions ?  " 

Inez  flushed  like  a  schoolgirl  receiving  public  merit. 

"  Naturally,"  the  doctor  went  on,  his  tone  gather- 
ing more  assured  lightness,  "  the  general  structure 
and  proportions  were  the  final  arguments.  But  little 
children  are  my  special  hobby, —  and  there  was  so 
much  of  tenderness, —  of  universal  motherhood,  so  to 
speak,  in  those  wonderful  drawings  — "  He  broke 
off,  gazed  a  little  quizzically  at  Inez,  and  said,  with 
an  effect  of  impulsiveness,  "  Surely,  madame,  you 
must  have  studied  to  be  an  artist  in  order  to  have  ex- 
pressed yourself  so  vividly  in  mass  and  line." 

"  She  could  have  been  an  artist,  and  a  big  one," 
volunteered  John,  proudly.  "  Only  she  chose  to  put 
the  time  for  it  on  music." 

"  Ah,  music,  too !  "  smiled  the  other.  "  I  might 
have  known.  There  is  music  in  her  decorations." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  music  in  my  decora- 
tions ?  "  demanded  Inez  with  growing  excitement. 

"  Was  not  that  bank  of  poppies  sprung  to  the1 
thought  of  a  sonata?  " 

Inez  fell  back,  gasping.  "  You  —  you  are  a 
wizard !  While  at  work  on  that  panel  I  played,  con- 
stantly, the  *  Appassionata.'  By  the  strong  open- 


DR.  KELSEY 

ing  chords  my  stems  rose ;  the  flowers  and  buds  came 
at  the  call  of  the  tenderer  passages." 

"  Am  I  wrong,  too,"  asked  the  doctor,  his  own  face 
showing  intense  delight,  "  in  hearing  Chopin  among 
the  swaying  grasses,  and  the  spirit  of  Grieg  among 
the  feathery  tips  ?  " 

Inez  had  gone  white,  but  her  eyes  were  like  living 
stars.  "  Yes,  you  comprehend.  It  is  all  to  music, 
—  all,  do  you  hear?  I  could  work  in  no  other  way. 
And  you  have  felt  it.  Why,  even  my  Jean  — " 

"  Oh,  I  confess  to  blatant  ignorance,"  broke  in  the 
younger  man,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  let  her  impet- 
uous speech  go  further.  "  Over  there  in  Paris,  Inez 
was  always  trying  to  make  me  see  that  certain  sorts 
of  buildings  could  be  constructed  on  the  lines  of  cer- 
tain symphonies.  But  I  could  not  grasp  such  sub- 
tleties. I  am  no  musician." 

"  Neither  am  I  a  musician,"  said  the  doctor,  with 
A  kindly  glance  toward  John.  "  I  am  even  base 
enough  to  find  delight  in  a  pianola.  But  even  on  that 
I  play  good  things.  And  I  believe  that,  in  some 
measure,  I  understand  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  be- 
cause — " 

"  Because, —  yes, —  yes  — "  cried  Inez,  intolerant 
of  the  pause. 

*'  I  am  a  surgeon,  as  perhaps  you  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, looking  directly  into  her  eyes.  "  I  have  had 
some  little  success." 

"  He  is  the  greatest  surgeon  in  this  part  of  the 
world,"  interpolated  John,  with  vehemence. 


292  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  If  I  am  successful,"  went  on  the  doctor,  with  his 
first  hint  of  embarrassment,  "  I  ascribe  it  mainly  to 
my  collection  of  Persian  pottery." 

John  stared,  incredulous.  Inez'  eyes  grew  even 
brighter. 

"  Some  years  ago,  under  the  stimulus  of  that  friend 
of  whom  I  spoke,  I  began  to  see  the  beauty  of  old 
pottery.  My  choice,  wide  at  first,  and,  as  is  in- 
evitable, a  little  self-mistrustful,  gradually  focussed 
upon  old  Persian." 

"  I  know.  I  'ave  seen, —  just  but  a  few,"  breathed 
Inez.  "  They  have  the  look  of  molten  rainbow, — 
and  the  feel  —  the  touch, —  mon  Dieu!  —  it  is  as  if 
the  cream  of  the  centuries  has  solidified  an  instant 
before." 

"  Whenever  there  is  a  very  difficult  and  hazardous 
operation,  I  spend  the  half-hour  just  before  it,  alone, 
in  a  locked  room,  with  my  treasures,"  said  he,  after 
a  look  of  deep  comprehension  toward  Inez.  "  I  caress 
them,  letting  my  fingers  touch,  first  heavily,  then  to 
an  imperceptible  lightness,  the  iridescent  surfaces. 
A  sort  of  virtue  seems  to  pass  from  them  into  me." 

"  And  you, —  and  you  — "  whispered  Inez,  trem- 
ulously, "  are  the  rich  man  from  Chicago." 

John  gave  a  horrified  cry. 

"  Be  silent,  Jean,"  said  Inez,  quickly,  her  eyes  not 
leaving  the  doctor's  face.  "  If  you  like  not  what  I 
am  saying,  you  mus'  go.  As  for  me,  I  hear  —  even 
in  dis  Middle  West  I  thought  arid  —  the  waters  of 
a  living  spring." 


DR.  KELSEY  293 

"  Thank  Heaven  Dr.  Kelsey  is  a  married  man," 
cried  John,  to  cover  his  discomfiture. 

Inez  wheeled  to  him,  her  eyes  flashing. 
"  Married !  Married !  It  is  all  you  think  of,  here 
in  Delphi.  What  difference  if  such  a  man  do  have 
a  dozen  wives !  Is  a  pine  tree  less  a  pine,  because  of 
the  birds'  nests  in  its  branches? 

"  Tell  me  much  of  yourself,  Dr.  Kelsey,"  she  now 
pleaded,  turning  back  to  him.  "  I  mus'  hear  —  it 
may  mean  much  for  me  to  hear  —  how  a  man  of  your 
kind  remain  himself  only, —  in  such  environment. 
How  you  continue  to  make  growth,  for  you  grow  al- 
ways —  Tell  me  — " 

"  Dear  lady,"  said  the  doctor,  leaning  far  toward 
her  in  his  earnestness.  "  First  of  all,  do  not  make 
the  fatal  mistake  of  belittling  the  new  world  because 
it  is  new.  Even  its  crudity  is  part  of  youth  and 
growth.  I  have  been  in  most  of  the  old-world  cities. 
It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet  and  talk  with 
great  minds;  and  I  assure  you,  with  deep  sincerity, 
that  nowhere  on  earth  is  there  more  natural  intel- 
ligence, more  beautiful  humility  of  spirit,  more  in- 
tense eagerness  to  lay  hold  on  the  real  things  of  life 
and  of  immortality,  than  here  in  the  Middle  West. 
I  would  be  content  to  live  in  no  other  spot." 

"  But  Delphi, —  a  place  of  petty  thought  and 
mean,  small  souls  like  Delphi — "  she  cried  in  pro- 
test, forgetting  how  the  words  might  hurt  her 
lover. 

"  These  small  towns,  being  more  beset  with  trivial- 


294  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ities,  grow  slowly,"  said  Dr.  Kelsey,  gravely.     "  But 
even  Delphi  has  John  Hemingway  and  you." 

With  a  swift,  beautiful  movement,  Inez  turned 
and  held  a  hand  out  to  John.  "  But  even  he, —  even 
my  Jean, —  it  was  that  he  came  to  Paris,"  she  tri- 
umphed. 

"  All  divine  fire  is  transmitted  from  older  shrines," 
smiled  the  doctor.  "  And  the  greatest  privilege,  in 
my  opinion,  that  can  be  vouchsafed  to  a  human  soul, 
is  that  of  torch-bearer." 

Inez'  eyes  fell.  Her  face  quivered  as  if  with 
some  inner  struggle. 

"  And  may  I  be  permitted  to  say,  also,"  added  the 
doctor,  softly,  "  that  your  marriage,  which  I  hope  is 
not  to  be  long  deferred,  seems  to  me  to  give  promise 
of  more  beauty  and  of  more  world-betterment,  than 
any  I  have  known." 

There  was  another  long  silence.  Daylight  was 
fading.  The  fire  had  been  allowed  to  crumble  low. 
A  sort  of  chill  crept  in  between  the  friends.  John, 
of  himself,  released  the  hand  he  had  been  holding* 
He  moved  uneasily,  dreading  Inez'  next  words. 

"  Dr.  Kelsey,"  she  asked  with  sudden  clearness,  "  is 
it  not  your  belief  that  each  individual  soul  has  the 
right, —  or,  to  put  it  more  strongly, —  the  sacred  ob- 
ligation to  live  according  to  its  own  convictions?  " 

The  doctor  kept  very  still.  Through  the  shadows 
his  face  gleamed  like  a  flake  of  white  flint.  He  real- 
ised, and  he  knew  that  Inez  intended  him  to  realise, 
the  full  import  of  her  query. 


DR.  KELSEY  295 

"  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  an  individual  soul,"  he 
parried,  "  or  do  you  mean,  perhaps,  an  isolated 
soul?" 

The  words  brought  an  uncomfortable  shock  to 
Inez.  "  Why,"  she  stammered,  taken  aback,  "  I 
meant  what  I  said.  It  is  an  ordinary  expression, 
n'est-ce  pas?  The  individual, —  the  ego." 

"  Then,"  said  Dr.  Kelsey,  "  I  can  answer.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  soul  which  is  alive  and  rational, 
being,  in  the  sense  you  mean,  individual.  A  soul  or 
an  intelligence  —  and  in  my  vocabulary  they  are  one 
—  deliberately  withdrawn  from  all  others,  must  per- 
ish. You  might  as  well  look  for  a  suspended  flame." 

"  And  speaking  of  flames,"  cried  John,  springing 
to  his  feet,  "  we  need  some  coal  on  our  fire ;  and,  if 
I  am  not  very  much  mistaken,  the  supper  bell  is  going 
to  ring  in  just  about  two  minutes.  Don't  you  want 
to  run  up  to  my  room,  doctor?  " 

The  doctor  agreed,  with  suspicious  alacrity. 
Inez,  left  alone,  stared  deep  into  the  smouldering 
grate. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL 

THE  stream  of  feminine  callers  began,  at  last,  to 
show  signs  of  diminution.  Perhaps  it  was  fancy, 
born  of  the  new  sensitiveness  engendered  by  May 
Armstrong's  frank  avowal,  but,  to  Inez,  the  later  ar- 
rivals appeared  even  more  openly  inimical.  Rather 
wearily  she  marvelled  why  on  earth  they  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  come.  She  made  practically  no  efforts 
now  to  win  their  good  graces,  granting  merely  a  chill 
courtesy. 

Aside  from  Mrs.  McMaster's  initial  effort  to  enrol 
the  brilliant  stranger  among  her  militant  sisterhood, 
and  a  casual  invitation  from  Aunt  Clara  to  "  drop  in 
next  Thursday  evenin'  for  an  informal  home  sup- 
per," Inez  had  been  asked  nowhere.  John's  mother, 
while  prepared  for  a  certain  amount  of  reserve  and 
caution  from  her  old  friends,  was  amazed  to  note 
what  now  appeared  an  organised  hostility.  This 
grew  steadily,  and  was  so  marked  that,  at  times,  the 
old  lady  felt  almost  desperate.  There  were  still 
several  of  her  special  "  intimates  "  who  continued  to 
run  in  at  unexpected  moments,  but  even  these  began 
to  choose  the  hours  when  Inez  was  likely  to  be  up- 
stairs in  her  own  room.  Mrs.  Hemingway  got  up 

296 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      297 

the  courage  to  ask  a  few  pointed  questions,  demand- 
ing the  reason  for  such  an  attitude  toward  her  boy's 
future  wife.  In  all  cases,  the  excuses  and  evasions 
proved  more  alarming  than  more  definite  accusations. 

Kate  McMaster  was,  perhaps,  the  least  elusive. 
"  The  truth  is,  Emma,"  she  declared,  after  a  frown- 
ing silence,  "  this  Madame  de  Pierrefond  ain't  our 
kind,  and  never  will  be." 

"  But  if  she's  John's  kind  —  ?  "  protested  the 
other. 

"  Then  why  don't  he  keep  her  where  she  belongs  ?  " 
Mrs.  McMaster  snapped. 

At  this  the  distress  of  the  gentle  old  face  before 
her  was  so  evident  that  the  heart  of  the  militant  one 
softened.  "  Don't  look  so  worried.  I  didn't  mean 
just  that,"  she  revoked.  "  Of  course  it  was  only 
right  and  proper  for  John  to  bring  her  here  to  see 
his  folks.  All  the  same,"  she  added,  with  a  new 
tightening  of  the  lips,  "  it  was  a  bad  move.  She 
turns  up  her  nose  at  the  lot  of  us." 

"  Oh,  Kate !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hemingway.  "  How 
can  you  say  a  thing  like  that?  She's  the  gentlest, 
sweetest,  most  considerate — " 

"  She's  got  to  be  decent  to  you,"  Kate  interrupted 
rudely.  "  She's  dead  in  love  with  John,  and  she's 
got  sense  enough  to  know  that  with  a  man  of  John's 
upbringing,  his  mother  comes  first.  Oh,  she's  no 
fool !  "  The  admission  was  made  with  a  defiant  toss 
of  the  head. 

"  John  has  always  been  the  best  son  in  the  world," 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

murmured  the  little  mother,  almost  now  in  tears,  "  but 
when  a  man  marries  — " 

"  Yes,  when  he  marries !  "  Kate  broke  in.  "  That's 
one  of  the  things  the  women  here  are  talking  about. 
If  you  mention  the  subject  to  her,  she's  off  like  a  skit- 
tish horse.  Even  John  turns  red  and  avoids  the  sub- 
ject, if  his  own  relations  ask  about  the  date.  There's 
something  mighty  queer.  You  can't  fool  Kate 
McMaster." 

"  Why, —  didn't  you  know?  "  the  elder  lady  ques- 
tioned, leaning  forward  eagerly,  "  that  they  have 
waited  until  John  could  get  a  start?  Inez  is  a  very 
rich  woman,"  she  stated,  not  without  a  certain  com- 
placency, "  and  John  wasn't  willing  for  them  to 
marry  until  he  had  something  of  his  own." 

She  folded  her  thin  hands  in  her  lap.  The 
troubled  look  gave  way  to  one  of  pride. 

"  He's  got  that  Chicago  hospital,  I  understand," 
said  Kate.  "  Have  they  said  anything  definite  ?  " 

The  pride  faded.     "  There  hasn't  been  time  yet." 

Kate  set  hard  eyes  upon  her  friend.  Her  expres- 
sion was  a  mingling  of  pity,  scorn  and  superior  wis- 
dom. "Hump!"  she  ejaculated.  "I  hear  they 
have  queer  ideas  about  such  things  in  Paris." 

Then,  as  if  determined  to  pursue  the  inflammable 
topic  no  further,  she  rose  to  her  feet.  "  Well,  I  must 
run  along.  I'm  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Crock  to  give 
him  a  piece  of  my  mind  about  the  sort  of  meat  he's 
been  handin'  to  us  lately.  He's  gettin'  so  that  he 
pays  no  attention  to  the  telephone." 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      299 

Mrs.  Hemingway  followed  the  sturdy  figure  to 
the  door. 

"  I  have  never  made  any  secret  to  Delphi  of  Inez* 
unfortunate  first  marriage,"  she  said.  "  It  was  not 
her  fault,  poor  child.  If  it  is  that  they  are  holding 
against  her  — " 

The  sentence  faltered. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  it's  that,"  declared  Kate 
cheerfully.  "  Look  at  May  Armstrong.  It  hasn't 
seemed  to  hurt  her  much.  But  then  she's  got  the 
gall  of  an  ox.  Besides,  there  are  a  few  —  By  the 
way,"  she  asked  suddenly,  turning  around,  "  has 
Mrs.  Abbey  and  Cora  Whitman  —  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Hemingway,  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
had  vanished. 

Kate  marched  triumphantly  down  the  cemented 
walk.  Her  massive  chin  was  set.  Now  she  nodded, 
as  one  who  says,  "  It  is  as  I  expected." 

The  little  widow,  left  alone,  hurried  to  her  special 
nook  in  the  corner  of  the  living-room.  The  morning 
sun  slanted  in  upon  the  comfortable,  upholstered 
rocker,  and  made  the  various  coloured  scraps  and 
spools  in  the  open  work-basket  near,  gleam  like  a 
section  of  a  clotted  rainbow.  She  sat  down  hesitat- 
ingly, her  slight  figure  expressing  lassitude  and  an 
unusual  dejection.  For  once  she  had  no  instinct  to 
catch  up  a  piece  of  work.  When  the  comfort  of 
sewing  failed,  Mrs.  Hemingway  was  lost  indeed. 

Kate's  parting  question  had  touched  the  sorest 
nerve  of  all  the  perplexities.  Why  had  not  Sarah 


300  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Abbey  called?  For  thirty  years  they  had  been 
friends,  good  friends.  Their  two  sons  were  insep- 
arable, and,  before  Inez'  coming,  there  had  been, 
as  Mrs.  Hemingway  knew,  quite  elaborate  intentions 
to  welcome  her  in  the  Abbey  household.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  something  was  "  going  on,"  something 
deliberately  kept  secret  from  John's  mother. 

At  dinner  time,  John,  before  taking  his  place,  gave 
a  quick,  anxious  look  toward  his  mother  and  ex- 
claimed, *'  What  has  gone  wrong,  little  mother  ? 
You  look  worn  out." 

Inez,  following  his  eyes,  said  affectionately,  "  She 
is  worn  out,  Jean, —  this  dear  mother,  wid  the  ar- 
ranging of  good  things  to  fill  our  worthless  bodies. 
She  remains  too  long  in  her  kitchen.  And  what,  after 
All,"  she  went  on,  with  a  smile,  "  do  it  matter  what 
we  eat  and  drink,  if  onlee  that  we  be  merry  ?  " 

"  That  sounds  all  right  from  your  point  of  view," 
laughed  John,  "  but  I  have  strong  doubts  as  to 
mother's.  She's  just  a  little  proud  of  her  house- 
keeping,—  aren't  you,  Mother  o'  Mine  ?  " 

"  And  well  may  dear  Mrs.  'Emingway  be  proud !  " 
exclaimed  Inez,  who  had  no  intention  of  being  so 
easily  put  down.  "  She  is  the  paragon  of  all  'ouse- 
keepers.  What  I  said  was  of  ourselves,  thou  rude 
one ! "  she  declared,  with  a  wicked  little  grimace  into 
the  very  face  of  the  delighted  John.  "  Our  lazy 
bodees  are  not  worth  the  great  trouble  that  la  mere 
is  taking." 

At  this,  la  mere,  raising  her  eyes  quickly  above 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      301 

the  tea-things,  cried,  "  Oh,  Inez !  You  know  John 
isn't  lazy.  He  is  one  of  the  steadiest-working  young 
men  that  ever  lived.  And  I  am  sure  he  didn't  mean 
to  be  rude.  John  is  never  rude." 

"  Un-umph!  "  triumphed  John.  "  Now  will  you 
be  good!  There's  somebody  who  appreciates  me." 
Carried  away  by  his  high  spirits,  and  in  a  voice  more 
remarkable  for  volume  than  for  melody,  he  carolled, 
"  If  I  were  hanged  from  the  highest  tree  — " 

"  Oof !  "  cried  Inez,  shrugging  away  from  him. 
"  You  aire  the  detestable.  I  onlee  'ope  that  the  tree 
is  very  high." 

"  Inez ! "  began  the  old  lady  in  a  horrified  tone, 
then,  "  Oh,  I  see  you're  just  joking." 

Inez  sprang  up,  ran  around  to  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  and  gave  the  little  grey-clad  figure  an  im- 
petuous embrace.  "  I  insist  that  Jean  is  a  pig  of 
conceit,"  she  teased  merrily,  "  but  you,  dear  mother 
of  my  Jean, —  you  are  entirely  a  seraph." 

The  family  supper  at  Walter  Hemingway's  had 
been  set  for  this  very  evening.  During  the  after- 
noon, John  and  Inez,  working  over  further  details 
in  the  now  thrillingly  important  hospital  plans,  con- 
tinued in  radiant  mood. 

Several  times  the  little  mother,  fearful  that  they 
might  be  a  moment  late,  stole  in  to  them,  suggesting 
that  they  did  not  put  off  "  getting  ready "  too 
long. 

Once  John,  a  trifle  impatient  at  the  interruption, 
flung  over  his  bent  shoulder,  "  Now  don't  you  worry 


302 

about  our  forgetting  Aunt  Clara's  party,  little 
mother.  There's  no  such  luck !  " 

He  turned  to  give  her  a  loving  pat  on  the  arm. 
She  tried  to  return  his  careless  smile,  but  her  heart 
was  heavy. 

It  was  only  natural,  she  reflected,  that  these  young, 
blissful  creatures  should  take  the  opinion  of  Delphi 
lightly.  They  had  not  to  live  always  within  the 
compass  of  its  self-established  social  boundaries.  To 
herself,  whose  permanent  home  it  was,  the  good  will 
of  friends  meant  everything. 

In  spite  of  her  reiterated  statement  as  to  infor- 
mality, Clara  was  apparently  making  great  prepara- 
tions. Twice  she  ran  in  to  "  Emma,"  always,  of 
course,  by  the  back  door,  to  borrow  certain  articles. 
Her  refusal,  on  both  occasions,  to  "  sit  down  and 
rest  a  minute,"  and  her  obvious  reluctance  to  be 
drawn  into  any  conversation  which  included  Madame 
de  Pierrefond,  added  to  the  apprehension  which  the 
elder  Mrs.  Hemingway  was  already  beginning  to  feel 
as  a  nightmare  weight.  Whatever  the  mysterious 
cabal  against  Inez,  Clara  knew,  and,  in  some  measure 
at  least,  shared  it. 

The  supper  hour  was  at  seven.  Exactly  three 
minutes  before  the  old  "  grandfather "  hall-clock 
struck,  Inez  came  running  down  the  stairs.  "  Ah, 
there  you  are,"  breathed  the  little  mother,  who,  for 
some  time  before,  had  been  hovering  near  the  foot. 
"  Clara  thinks  a  great  deal  of  punctuality.  How 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      303 

very  sweet  you  look,  my  dear ! "  This  with  an  ad- 
miring glance  toward  Inez. 

"  Isn't  she  a  vision?  "  beamed  John,  now  coming 
up  to  them. 

The  three  moved  together  toward  the  entrance 
door.  "  Please  be  specially  nice  to  your  Aunt  Clara, 
John,"  pleaded  the  mother,  as  the  young  couple 
stepped  across  the  threshold. 

There  was  such  sincerity  in  the  tremulous  voice 
that  Inez  could  not  restrain  a  glance  of  surprise. 
Mrs.  Hemingway,  meeting  her  eyes,  flushed  faintly. 
"I  —  I  —  hope  you  won't  find  the  evening  dull,  dear 
Inez,"  she  said  in  the  hurried  way  in  which  one  fills 
up  a  pause  that  might  become  embarrassing.  "  I 
believe  you  haven't  met  Walter.  He  is  very  popular 
in  Delphi,  and  many  people  think  him  very  hand- 
some." 

"  I  'ave  no  eyes  for  other  handsome  men,"  declared 
Inez  gaily,  slipping  her  arm  through  John's. 

Clinging  together,  they  moved  down  the  walk. 
They  were  both  tall,  slender  and  erect,  and  had  the 
free  stride  of  joyous  young  animals.  To  the  loving, 
troubled  eyes  that  watched  them,  they  were  the  most 
beautiful  beings  in  all  the  world. 

As  they  disappeared,  she  drew  in  a  long  sigh,  and, 
stepping  within  the  hall  had  nearly  closed  the  door 
when  the  sound  of  rapid  footsteps,  coming  along  the 
pavement  from  an  opposite  direction,  made  her  pause. 
It  was  young  Abbey,  entering  with  such  haste  that 


304.  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

the  old  lady  had  to  spring  backward  to  avoid  a  col- 
lision. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Hemingway,"  the 
boy  gasped.  "  I  didn't  see  you.  John  and  Inez  at 
home?  " 

"  No.  They  have  just  gone  over  to  Clara's  for 
supper.  I  was  closing  the  door  after  them." 

Charlie  turned.  "  All  right.  It  isn't  impor- 
tant. I'll  run  in  some  time  to-morrow." 

"  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Charlie. 
Won't  you  come  in?  " 

Charlie  was  at  the  top  step.  "  Aw-ful  sorry, 
Mrs.  Hemingway,  but  I've  got  an  engagement  — " 
His  reluctance  was  obvious. 

"  Yet  you  were  coming  in  to  see  John,"  remarked 
the  old  lady,  not  without  a  certain  archness. 

Charlie  grinned,  as  he  took  off  his  hat  and  fol- 
lowed her.  His  whole  manner  said,  "  Oh,  Lord,  I'm 
in  for  it." 

The  hostess  did  not  keep  him  in  suspense. 
"  Charlie,  have  you  any  idea  why  your  mother  ha» 
not  called  on  Inez  ?  " 

The  boy's  face  reddened  painfully.  His  eyes  fell 
to  his  hat-brim  which  he  now  tormented  and  twisted 
with  both  hands. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  trouble  you  this  way,  dear 
boy,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  I  wouldn't  do  it  only  that 
I  know  you  are  John's  friend,  and  —  hers." 

"  You  bet  your  life  I'm  their  friend,"  he  cried, 
with  savage  emphasis. 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      305 

Mrs.  Hemingway  waited,  trembling.  She  hoped 
his  vehemence  would  take  the  form  of  tangible  state- 
ments, but  Charlie  was  apparently  forcing  himself 
to  silence,  only  a  deep  scowl  betraying  what  he  felt. 

"  Your  mother  and  I  have  been  good  friends  for 
thirty  years.  I  was  with  her  when  you  were  born, 
Charlie.  I  feel  that  there  must  be  some  very  real 
cause, —  something  she  thinks  a  justifiable  reason, 
that  makes  her  willing  to  put  this  slight  upon  me 
and  mine." 

"  There  isn't  any  reason,"  the  other  burst  out. 
"  It's  just  a  contemptible,  hatched-up  plot  of  Cora 
Whitman's.  You  know,"  he  said  by  way  of  explana- 
tion, as  Mrs.  Hemingway  threw  him  a  startled  look 
of  inquiry,  "  ever  since  John's  engagement  was  first 
announced,  she's  been  like  a  sore-headed  cat.  She's 
got  a  chance  now  to  do  harm,  and  she's  doing  it." 

"  But,"  protested  the  old  lady,  piteously,  "  even 
if  Cora  wishes  to  be  so  —  so  —  unchristian  — " 

"  So  devilish,  you  mean,"  interpolated  the  boy, 
without  apology  for  his  expression. 

"  Even  if  Cora  is  willing  to  do  harm, —  I  cannot 
understand  why  your  mother — " 

Charlie's  lips  were  again  tightly  compressed.  His 
eyes  fell  before  the  pleading  of  the  sweet  old  face 
before  him. 

"And  you  cannot  tell  me  anything  —  definite?" 
she  faltered. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  choked  the  boy,  looking  as  if  he 
would  in  another  instant,  burst  into  tears. 


306  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Mrs.  Hemingway  rose  to  her  feet.  She  realised 
it  was  useless  to  prolong  an  interview  so  painful. 
In  her  slight  figure  was  a  pathetic  dignity. 

"  Something  has  got  to  be  done,"  she  said  firmly. 
"  To-morrow  I  shall  go  in  person  with  Inez,  to  begin 
the  return  of  her  calls." 

The  boy  gave  a  low  cry  and  an  uncontrollable 
gesture  of  protest.  "  No, —  don't  do  that !  " 

The  old  lady's  eyes  flew  open.  She  stared,  as  if 
unbelieving  her  senses,  into  the  flushed  and  miser- 
able young  face.  Slowly  all  colour  drained  from 
her  own,  leaving  it  a  transparent  mask  of  fear. 

"  Why  —  why  —  do  you  say  that  ?  And  in  such 
a  way?  " 

"  I  only  meant,"  stammered  Charlie,  striving 
hard  to  gain  self-control,  "  that  until  we  can  get 
hold  of  something  real, —  something  that  the  old 
cats  think  they  have  on  Inez, —  it's  better  to  lay 
low.  Don't  you  remember  the  old  saying  '  when  in 
doubt,  do  nothing  '  ?  " 

By  this  he,  too,  was  on  his  feet.  The  last  words 
were  spoken  quite  genially,  and  he  forced  the  sem- 
blance of  a  grin. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  answered  Mrs.  Heming- 
way, at  last,  in  a  voice  that  was  like  the  whisper  of 
a  ghost.  "  But  the  situation  is  even  worse  than  I 
thought.  John's  happiness  is  being  menaced.  It 
is  hard  to  do  nothing  when  —  when  — " 

"  I  know  it  is.  But  don't  you  break  down,"  said 
the  boy  comfortingly,  with  an  arm  around  the  bent, 


WHAT  CHARLIE  DID  NOT  TELL      307. 

grey  shoulders.  "  Now  just  you  trust  Little  Willy 
to  find  out  everything,  and  we'll  fix  it  up  in  a  jiffy." 

"  You  are  a  dear  boy,  Charlie,"  she  said,  wiping 
her  eyes.  "  I  am  very  thankful  that  we  have  one 
good  friend." 

"  Holy  cats ! "  groaned  Charlie,  at  last  escaped 
and  out  under  the  open  sky.  "  If  this  isn't  the  rot- 
tenest  mess,  ever!  But  how  could  I  tell  that  shiver- 
ing old  angel  that  I  saw  a  copy  of  Inez'  book  on  my 
mother's  dressing-table,  and  that  the  fool  talk  in 
it  against  marriage  has  turned  Delphi  into  a  hor- 
net's nest?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!" 

DURING  her  stay  in  Delphi,  which,  by  to-morrow 
would  have  reached  the  limit  of  its  first  week,  Inez 
had,  more  than  once,  caught  fleeting  glimpses  of 
John's  "  Aunt  Clara."  She  had  appeared,  like 
Mrs.  McMaster,  during  the  hour  when  the  little 
family  was  at  tea.  But  with  the  hour,  all  similarity 
ended.  No  dramatic  contrast  of  studied  "  en- 
trances "  could  have  been  more  vividly  opposed. 
While  Kate  assaulted,  as  it  were,  and  bore  inward 
upon  their  hinges  the  very  gates  of  the  quiet  citadel, 
Aunt  Clara,  integrally  part  of  the  domestic  at- 
mosphere, had  the  effect  of  a  spontaneous  mani- 
festation of  something  already  there. 

Inez,  as  it  chanced,  had  been  the  first  to  see  her 
enter;  and,  with  the  quick  eye  of  a  writer,  had  ac- 
claimed her  instantly  as  a  "  type."  Throughout  the 
short  visit,  this  conviction  deepened.  Inez  found 
herself  watching,  almost  with  eagerness,  for  the  next 
words  spoken  by  this  self-contained,  neutral,  and 
yet  impressive  little  woman.  Nothing  that  she  said 
or  did  was  of  particular  interest;  yet,  as  Inez 
shrewdly  guessed,  no  one,  in  Aunt  Clara's  presence, 
ever  forgot  that  she  was  there. 

On    being    presented    by    her    tall    nephew    to 
309 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    309 

"  Madame  de  Pierrefond,"  she  went  forward,  ex- 
tended a  small  hand,  somewhat  stained  and  roughened 
by  constant  household  work,  and  with  no  more  self- 
consciousness  than  if  she  were  speaking  to  a  child,  ad- 
dressed the  smiling  stranger  as  "  I-nez,"  giving  the 
first  syllable  of  the  name  an  American  rendering. 
From  this  pronunciation  she  never  deviated.  John 
and  his  mother  might  enunciate  "  £tf-nezz,"  till  the 
cows  came  home.  Aunt  Clara  had  seen  it  written 
"  I,"  and,  for  her,  "  I "  it  was  to  remain. 

The  hardly-veiled  curiosity,  the  furtive  "  sizing 
her  up  "  which  Inez  had  noted,  and  was  beginning  to 
resent  in  other  women,  played  no  part  in  Aunt 
Clara's  impassive  regard.  Her  nondescript  eyes, 
like  her  voice,  were  held  at  a  monotonous  level;  yet 
Inez  felt  instinctively  —  and  correctly  —  that  every 
inch  of  her  external  self  was  being  caught  and  regis- 
tered as  on  a  film. 

The  visitor,  after  some  friendly  urging,  was  per- 
suaded to  sit  with  them  at  table  while  John  imbibed 
his  third  cup  of  tea. 

"I  always  find  it  hard  to  break  off,"  the  young 
man  explained,  as  if  to  apologise  for  his  delay,  "  but 
you  don't  realise  what  it  means  to  a  fellow  who's 
been  in  exile,  to  get  back  to  these  wonderful,  home- 
tasting  things." 

"  I  guess  it  must  be,"  responded  Aunt  Clara,  un- 
emotionally. "  By  the  way,  John,  what  did  you 
ever  do  with  my  little  pie  dish  and  the  jelly  glass 
I  packed  in  the  lunch  you  took  awav  ?  " 


310  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

John  stared.  He  had  long  since  forgotten  there 
had  ever  been  a  lunch.  Inez,  catching  his  expres- 
sion, raised  her  serviette  to  her  lips  to  hide  a  smile. 
But  old  Mrs.  Hemingway  was  looking  anxious,  and 
Aunt  Clara,  her  eyes  as  steady  as  two  imbedded  bul- 
lets, held  him  at  gaze. 

"I  —  I'm  —  afraid,  Aunt  Clara,  that  I  can't  re- 
call now  exactly  what  did  become  of  them." 

"  Well,  they  are  no  great  loss.  The  pie  dish  had 
a  crack  in  it,  and  I  had  been  putting  jelly  into  that 
glass  every  summer  since  you  have  been  born." 

A  few  moments  later  she  had  issued  the  invita- 
tion on  which  now,  this  Thursday  evening,  John  and 
Inez  were  on  the  way  to  fulfil. 

During  the  interim,  "  Uncle  Walter,"  so  John 
now  informed  his  companion,  had  been  on  one  of  his 
increasingly  frequent  trips  to  Chicago.  By  a  pe- 
culiar but  also  increasingly  frequent  coincidence,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  had  felt  it  necessary  to  betake  herself 
to  the  same  metropolis.  This  latter  fact,  however, 
John  did  not  mention.  In  spite  of  his  kinship  to 
the  middle-aged  Lothario,  John  had  caught  enough 
of  local  gossip  to  realise  that  tongues  were  busy  with 
the  new  scandal.  He  resented  bitterly  that,  just  at 
the  present  moment  when  his  own  affair  hung,  as  it 
were,  in  the  balance  of  popular  approval,  there 
should  be  further  cheapening  of  the  Hemingway 
name. 

On  the  other  hand,  Walter  was  mayor  of  the  town, 
and  still  accounted  by  the  majority  a  "  bully  sport." 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    311 

His  friendship  and  good-will  were  not  to  be  despised. 

So  when  Inez,  apparently  without  premeditation, 
suddenly  demanded  that  John  tell  her  more  about 
his  Uncle  Walter  before  she  should  meet  him,  the 
young  man  could  not  conceal  a  start  of  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Walter  is  all  right ! "  he  declared, 
with  an  obvious  effort  at  heartiness.  "  You  know 
he  doesn't  want  me  to  call  him  '  Uncle '  any  more. 
Says  it  makes  him  feel  old." 

"  He  is  a  vain  man,  then  —  this  Oncle  Walter  who 
mus'  not  be  called  '  Oncle  '  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is,"  admitted  John.  "  You  see, 
he  has  a  big  political  following,  not  only  in  Delphi, 
but  all  through  the  country  near.  And  then  — " 

"  And  then — ?  "  encouraged  Inez,  smiling  wisely. 

"  For  some  ungodly  reason, —  women  like  him." 

"  I  thought  that  was  coming.  And  do  you  not 
fear,  my  Jean,"  she  persisted,  teasingly,  "  to  submit 
an  innocent  like  me  to  the  charms  of  your  Don  Juan 
of  Delphi?" 

John,  looking  down,  returned  her  smile,  but  his 
own  was  a  little  rueful.  "  I'm  only  afraid  that  you 
are  going  to  dislike  him  so  much  you  can't  help  show- 
ing it." 

"  Ah !  That  puts  a  new  face  upon  the  matter.  If, 
as  you  now  hint,  I  am  to  dislike  so  gallant  a  gentle- 
man,—  is  it  better  that  I  should  hide  it?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is,  darling,"  he  said,  giving  the  arm 
in  his  a  loving  pressure.  "  Mother  is  worrying  her 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

poor  little  head  already  because  —  well  —  because 
she  doesn't  feel  that  Delphi  is  appreciating  you  just 
as  it  should.  Aunt  Clara  is  friendly,  though,  and 
in  her  quiet  way  she  is  a  force.  It  won't  do  to  an- 
tagonise her  husband." 

"  Is  she,  then,  one  of  the  women  who  are  in  love 
with  her  'usband?" 

John  grinned.  "  It's  beyond  me  to  imagine  Aunt 
Clara  in  love  with  anybody.  But  she's  religious,  and 
she'd  fight  for  him." 

"  She  may  be  religious,"  remarked  Inez,  sapiently, 
"  but  that  is  not  the  reason  she  would  fight.  Ohe, — 
do  not  look  troubled,  my  Jean.  I  will  be  nice  to 
Oncle  Walter." 

A  moment  later  a  front  door  was  opened  by  that 
person  in  the  flesh, —  much  flesh, —  clothed  in  so  mar- 
vellous a  conception  of  male  evening  attire  that,  for 
an  instant,  Inez  was  guilty  of  the  rudeness  of  an 
open-mouthed  stare. 

He  wore  grey  trousers,  creased  until  there  seemed 
to  be  a  measuring  rod  down  the  front  of  each 
leg.  His  waistcoat  was  starched  to  the  likeness  of 
a  white  celluloid  breastplate;  and  the  long  frock 
coat  had  tails  which  swirled  with  each  motion,  like 
the  skirts  of  a  modern  dancer.  As  a  crowning  joy, 
he  displayed  a  necktie  of  geranium  red,  adorned  with 
a  diamond  horseshoe. 

"  So  you've  come ! "  he  shouted,  j  oyously. 
"  Walk  right  in.  Glad  to  see  you !  Gee  whizz, 
John !  But  you're  the  lucky  nut  all  right !  " 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    313 

His  huge  voice,  booming  past  them  into  the  night, 
reverberated  against  the  walls  of  the  neighbouring 
houses,  where  more  than  one  oblique  and  listening 
ear  twitched,  as  to  a  battle  trumpet. 

"  Clary !  " —  this,  on  sudden  impulse  to  the  shad- 
owy far  end  of  the  hall  —  "  Our  turtle-doves  are 
here." 

Without  waiting  for  his  wife's  verbal  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  fact  so  poetically  stated,  Walter  wheeled 
round  again,  his  coat-tails  standing  out  with  the 
swift  motion. 

"  You  haven't  introduced  us  yet,  John.  But, 
what's  the  diff  ?  We're  kin.  I'm  Walter,"  he  stated 
beamingly  to  Inez,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  And 
you're  — " 

"  Madame  Inez  de  Pierrefond,"  enunciated  Inez, 
very  clearly. 

John  gave  her  an  imperceptible  nudge.  But  he 
need  have  felt  no  fear.  Walter  was  not  of  a  nature 
to  be  easily  rebuffed. 

"  Madame  de  Grandmother!  "  he  vociferated,  even 
more  heartily.  "  Not  on  your  life !  A  niece-in- 
law,  that's  the  winner  you  are," — here  his  eyes 
fairly  deposited  saccharine  lumps  of  admiration 
full  in  her  upraised  face.  "  She's  goin'  to  be 
*  7-nez '  from  the  start.  That's  right.  Eh, 
John?" 

John,  wincing  slightly  under  the  broad  wink  that 
was  half  a  leer,  hastily  assured  him  that  it  was  right ; 
at  which  Inez,  perforce,  attempted  a  smile,  and  re- 


314  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

linquished  her  chill  fingers  to  what  seemed  a  digitated 
section  of  warm,  red,  butcher's  meat. 

Now,  along  the  hallway,  Aunt  Clara's  nasal  tones 
were  heard. 

" 1  told  you  to  invite  them  into  the  livin'-room, 
Walter.  And  shut  that  front  door  quick,  or  some 
folks  will  be  fallin'  outer  their  second-floor  win- 
dows." 

Inez,  through  her  amusement  at  the  words,  was 
conscious  of  noting  the  peculiar,  carrying  quality  of 
the  voice  that  uttered  them.  It  had  not  been  raised 
by  the  hundredth  part  of  a  degree,  yet  it  pervaded 
the  house  like  an  essence,  sending  its  vibrations,  it 
would  appear,  through  the  very  woodwork  of  the 
now  closed  front  door. 

"  Supper'll  be  on  in  a  minute,"  Aunt  Clara  added, 
though  remaining  all  the  time  invisible.  "  Ask  I-nez 
if  she  don't  want  to  lay  aside  her  hat." 

"  Ain't  got  a  hat.  Come  bare-headed,"  bawled 
the  master  of  the  house.  Even  so  commonplace  a 
remark  seemed  to  afford  him  a  sort  of  triumphant 
satisfaction. 

He  strode  before  them  into  the  "  parlour,"  snapped 
on  the  electric  lights,  and,  placing  himself  on  the 
hearth-rug  with  feet  unnecessarily  far  apart,  dis- 
tended the  white  waistcoat  in  a  long,  proprietary 
sigh  of  well-being. 

"  Don't  wonder  you  come  bare-headed,"  he  now 
said,  admiringly,  fixing  his  bold  eyes  on  Madame  de 
Pierrcfond's  gleaming  crown.  "  Your  hair  shines 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    315 

jest  like  the  bottom  of  my  wife's  copper  preservm* 
kittle." 

"  Now  Unc  —  now,  Walter,"  John  put  in,  laugh- 
ing. "  Inez'  head  may  look  like  a  copper  kettle,  but 
I  don't  want  you  to  turn  it." 

"  Shucks !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  in  huge  delight, 
giving  the  words  an  interpretation  John  could  not 
have  foreseen,  "  Inez  wouldn't  look  twice  at  a  staid 
old  married  man  like  me." 

"  Ah,  dear  Mr.  'Emingway,"  murmured  the  wicked 
Inez,  "  it  is  imposseble  to  keep  from  looking  at  you, 
no  matter  how  much  I  might  wish  not  to  do  so." 

"  Ah,  come  on !  "  he  roared,  ecstatically.  "  You're 
kiddin'.  Well,  who  knows,  I  may  make  John  mind 
his  '  p's  »  and  (  q's  '  yet !  " 

Perhaps  fortunately  for  all,  Aunt  Clara,  at  this 
precise  instant,  materialised  in  the  doorway,  and  as- 
sured them,  dryly,  that  supper  was  on  the  table. 

Inez  rose  and  moved  toward  her  hostess.  The  lit- 
tle woman  apparently  did  not  see  her  visitor's  tenta- 
tively outstretched  hand.  Inez  bit  her  lip,  wonder- 
ing whether  John  had  noticed,  then  followed  meekly 
the  lead  of  Aunt  Clara's  narrow,  but  strangely  un- 
compromising back. 

It  proved,  for  two  of  the  company  at  least,  a  most 
uncomfortable  repast.  The  table  was  loaded  with 
enough  food  for  twenty.  In  dispensing  this,  and 
urging  her  guests  to  eat  far  more  than  was  physically 
possible,  Aunt  Clara  was  evidently  fulfilling  her  en- 
tire ideal  of  hospitality.  All  "  conversation  "  was. 


S16  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

left  to  Walter.  He  was  accredited,  in  Delphi,  with 
being  entertaining,  and,  to-night,  spurred  and  in- 
spired by  the  propinquity  of  the  most  beautiful 
woman  he  had  ever  seen,  he  demonstrated  himself  not 
only  an  orator  but  a  man  of  sentiment.  Byron  was 
quoted  freely.  Even  a  few  lines  of  Shakespeare  were 
essayed,  but  this  bard,  being  notoriously  difficult  to 
remember  verbatim,  was  soon  abandoned. 

Inez,  true  to  her  promise,  forced  herself  to  give 
the  appearance  of  a  delighted  listener.  She  kept  her 
dark,  wonderful  eyes  fixed  upon  the  host's  increas- 
ingly crimson  face.  Indeed,  it  soon  became  her  chief 
preoccupation  not  to  see  John.  She  knew  only  too 
well  what  he  was  thinking. 

Aunt  Clara's  withdrawn  silence  threw  no  cloud 
upon  her  husband's  loquacious  geniality.  He  was  ac- 
customed, as  he  would  have  expressed  it,  for  Clara 
to  take  a  back  seat  when  her  showy  husband  was 
around. 

Once  only,  and  then  in  the  midst  of  a  particu- 
larly florid  declamation,  did  her  ear-arresting  voice 
assert  itself.  She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  the  cen- 
tre-piece, a  small  round  dish  of  filagree  silver,  filled 
with  artificial  ferns. 

"  This  whole  town  thinks  a  lot  of  your  mother, 
John.  There's  not  a  better  or  more  Christian 
woman  in  it  than  Emma  Hemingway,  even  if  she 
don't  go  to  church  as  often  as  some." 

Walter,  amazed,  scowled  fiercely  at  the  unwonted 
interruption. 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    317 

"  I  don't  know  as  I've  heard  anybody  sayin'  things 
against  Emma,"  he  remarked,  in  a  tone  which  he 
intended  to  convey  a  mingling  of  sarcasm  and  re- 
proof. 

Aunt  Clara  ignored  him  as  she  might  a  piece  of 
furniture.  Inez,  sending  a  swift,  uncontrollable 
glance  toward  her  hostess,  saw  only  an  expression- 
less parchment-coloured  face,  with  small,  inscrutable 
eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  the  teapot  she  was  now 
lifting. 

Walter,  for  a  few  moments  longer,  continued  to 
fume ;  and  then,  emphasising  the  bravado  of  his 
manner,  plunged  into  a  joke  which,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  was  not  ever  intended  for  a  Delphi  family 
party.  Aunt  Clara  sat  on,  a  silent,  almost  motion- 
less image  of  disapprobation.  A  sort  of  dry  chill 
seemed  to  emanate  from  her. 

A  little  after  nine  the  young  guests,  thankful  to 
be  able  to  escape,  made  some  trivial  excuse  and  fled. 
Walter's  stentorian  utterances  of  comradeship  and 
life-long  affection  followed  them  nearly  out  of  sight. 

"  Lord,  but  wasn't  that  fierce !  "  ej  aculated  John, 
with  a  long  sigh  of  relief  when  at  last  they  were  well 
out  of  earshot.  "  I've  never  known  Uncle  Walter 
to  be  quite  so  intolerably  vulgar.  And  as  for  Aunt 
Clara!  It  gave  me  the  creeps  just  to  be  near  her. 
What  on  earth  was  the  matter,  anyway?  Do  you 
suppose  she  felt  ill  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Inez,  with  a  twisted  smile  that 
he  did  not  see.  "  Only  virtuous." 


318  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Virtuous  ?  "  echoed  John,  taken  aback  by  the 
unexpected  statement.  "  Do  you  mean  about  Wal- 
ter's silly  gush  and  his  jokes?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  She  must  be  used  to  him  by 
this  time.  It  is  something  newer, —  a  pleasing  vari- 
ety, as  it  were." 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  cried  John,  after  a 
moment  of  puzzled  and  frowning  silence.  "  We 
have  wasted  too  much  time  on  them  already.  There's 
something  a  good  deal  more  important  I  wish  to 
speak  of." 

He  paused,  but  Inez  made  no  encouraging  sound. 

"  Of  course,"  he  began,  with  a  hint  of  diffidence, 
"  you  realise  that  with  to-morrow  morning,  the  week, 
—  your  week  of, —  er  —  of  — " 

"  Probation  ?  "  suggested  Inez. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  call  it  that,"  he  rej  oined, 
with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "  Anyway,  it's  up. 
And  you  know,  too,  that  with  the  certainty  of  this 
big  hospital  job,  I  am,  for  the  first  time  in  a  posi- 
tion to  —  to  — " 

Still  she  kept  silence.  She  scarcely  seemed  to 
breathe. 

"  Inez,"  he  burst  out,  passionately,  "  don't  keep 
your  face  turned  from  me.  I  want  you  for  my  — 
for  mine.  I  need  you,  Inez  — " 

"  You  have  me,"  she  put  in. 

"  But  not  in  all  the  ways  I  want.  You  must  be 
mine  Before  the  world  —  before  our  friends.  In 
each  step  of  this  work  I  shall  need  you.  And  even 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    319 

if  I  have  to  spend  a  while  in  Chicago,  would  it  seem 
to  you  now  quite  so  dreadful  —  since  you  have  met 
Dr.  Kelsey,  and  realise  that  there  are  other  men  — 
and  women  too, —  of  his  fine  calibre,  living  there?" 

He  had  hurried  on  almost  as  if  fearful  of  inter- 
ruption, but  now  came  to  a  deliberate  stop,  waiting; 
for  her  reply. 

"  The  long  talk  I  have  had  with  Dr.  Kelsey  has 
made  for  me  a  great  difference.  That  I  admit," 
said  Inez,  slowly. 

"  And  the  wife  of  such  a  man  is  sure  to  be  inter- 
esting! Through  them  you  will  make  other  friends. 
Everybody  will  be  crazy  over  you.  And  of  all  the 
proud  and  happy  fellows  — " 

"  Don't !  "  came  in  a  sharp  cry  from  his  compan- 
ion. "  You  are  flinging  to  the  winds  our  real  issue. 
Above  all  things,  my  Jean,  we  must  not  blind  our- 
selves to  what  is  real.  Tell  me,  my  Jean, —  tell  me 
wid  your  mind  and  not  your  heart, —  would  even  sa 
great  a  man  as  Dr.  Kelsey  be  our  friend?" 

"  Why  —  what  do  you  mean,  Inez  ?  You 
know  — "  he  stammered,  and  then,  before  her  seri- 
ous gaze,  fell  silent. 

"  You  have  promised  me  that  our  union  before 
the  world  should  be, —  when  your  position  in  finance 
made  it  possible, —  the  free,  untrammelled,  beautiful 
companionship  which  in  my  soul  I  believe  to  be  the 
one  way  to  exalted  happiness.  Have  you  not  prom- 
ised that,  my  Jean  ?  "  v 

"  I  have  promised,  Inez,  and  if  you  insist,  I  shall 


320  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

keep  my  word,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  the  sound 
of  earth  thrown  on  a  coffin-lid. 

She  threw  her  head  back  quickly.  Impetuous 
words  fought  against  her  closed  lips.  Her  strug- 
gle for  self-control  was  evident.  Suddenly  she 
walked  past  him,  and  not  until  his  gate  was  reached 
did  she  pause  for  him  to  rejoin  her. 

Old  Mrs.  Hemingway,  at  the  sound  of  the  gate, 
came  running  to  the  front  porch.  Under  the  single 
electric  light  she  fluttered  like  a  grey  moth  in  im- 
prisonment. 

"  There's  a  telegram  for  you,  John,"  she  cried, 
before  the  two  had  reached  her.  "  It  came  a  few 
minutes  ago.  I'm  so  anxious." 

"  Why,  little  mother,  there's  nothing  to  worry 
over,"  he  said,  tenderly,  and  before  opening  the  mis- 
sive stooped  to  kiss  her.  "  It's  probably,  only, — 
yes,  just  what  I  thought, —  the  hospital  committee 
want  me  to  take  an  early  train  to  Chicago  in  the 
morning.  They  need  me  for  some  consultations." 

"  You  will  go,  of  course,"  said  Inez,  in  a  quick, 
decisive  tone.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  felt  relief. 

"  Well,  rather !  "  said  John,  in  even  greater  relief. 
"  This  makes  things  begin  to  look  like  business." 

Before  the  little  family  separated  for  the  night, 
a  ten  o'clock  train  next  day  had  been  decided  on. 
Inez  stated  that,  for  once,  she  would  give  over  her 
lazy  habit,  and  rise  to  have  breakfast  with  her 
"  Jean."  "  Then,  also,"  she  added,  charmingly,  "  I 
will  walk  to  the  little  station  with  you." 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!" 

John  felt  as  if  a  wagon-load  of  wet  clay  had  been 
removed  from  his  heart.  From  Inez'  altered  tone 
and  manner  he  inferred,  and  rightly,  that  the  vexed 
question  of  their  "  union  "  was  to  be  deferred  until 
after  his  return.  In  spite  of  his  consuming  love  for 
Inez,  he  was  guilty  of  an  inward  hope  that  the  com- 
mittee would  keep  him  for  several  days.  He  did 
not  need  to  ask  Inez  to  say  nothing,  in  the  interval, 
to  his  mother.  No  woman  with  a  spark  of  delicacy 
could  be  so  cruel. 

Next  day  the  breakfast  proved  something  of  a 
high  feast.  Flowers  were  in  the  centre  of  the  table. 
Through  the  old-fashioned  windows  the  sun  poured 
a  river  of  intangible  gold.  Inez  was,  herself,  like 
some  beautiful  tropical  flower,  unfolding  new  petals 
to  the  warm  glow.  All  three  felt  as  if,  somehow,  a 
calamity  had  been  averted.  Even  Molly  McGuire, 
in  her  kitchen,  shared  in  the  general  exhilaration, 
and  her  rich,  throaty  voice  could  be  heard  singing 
a  queerly  interwoven  medley  of  snatches,  some  from 
the  old  ballads  of  her  native  Ireland,  and  others 
from  popular  American  ragtime  tunes. 

A  loitering  urchin  from  the  street  was  lured,  by 
the  double  reward  of  a  good  breakfast  and  subse- 
quently a  "  quarter,"  to  take  John's  dressing  bag 
to  the  station;  after  which  negotiation  the  young 
man,  untrammelled,  except  by  a  little  grey-gloved 
hand  upon  his  arm,  stepped  merrily  out  into  the  sun- 
shine, and  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

During   the   brief   walk   a   puzzling   incident   oc- 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

curred.  On  the  chief  shopping  street  through  which 
they  had  to  pass,  Inez  was  certain  that  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Charlie  Abbey.  The  boy  paused, 
stared  a  moment,  and  then  darted  in  at  the  nearest 
drug-store. 

"  Why,  what  is  it?  "  cried  John,  at  her  low  ex- 
clamation. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  I  nearly 
turned  my  ankle.  That  was  all." 

"  I've  told  you  before  that  Delphi  pavements  were 
not  built  for  high  French  heels,"  said  John,  with 
tender  possessiveness,  entirely  satisfied  with  her  men- 
dacious explanation.  As  they  stood  waiting  for  the 
train  which  was,  as  usual,  a  few  moments  late,  Inez 
gave  more  than  one  furtive  glance  backward  to  see 
if  Charlie  had  followed.  This  evasion  was  so  utterly 
unlike  him. 

The  bright  mood  suddenly  clouded,  but  when  John 
rallied  her  upon  her  woebegone  expression  she  easily 
set  his  doubts  to  rest  by  saying,  "  And  how  else 
should  I  look  when  my  Jean  is  leaving  me  ?  " 

At  last  he  was  off.  Inez,  turning  from  a  final 
•wave  of  "  good-bye,"  came  face  to  face  with  Charlie. 
For  once  at  sight  of  her,  he  did  not  smile. 

"Where's  John  going?"  he  asked,  breathlessly. 

"To  Chicago.     Why?" 

"Will  he  be  gone  long?" 

"  Only  a  day  or  two,  I  think.  What  has  gone 
wrong  with  you,  Sharlee?  " 


"YOUR  SINS  HAVE  FOUND  YOU  OUT!"    323 

"  Well,"  the  boy  muttered,  speaking  to  himself 
rather  than  to  her,  "  perhaps  it's  better  without 
him." 

"  What  is  better  widout  him?  Why  do  you  look 
like  —  like  —  the  funeral  day  ?  I  am  frightfully  in- 
trigued. Tell  me  quick." 

"  Not  here  with  all  these  idiots  staring.  Let's  go 
to  some  quieter  street." 

Inez  could  scarcely  control  her  impatience. 
"  Now,"  she  demanded,  as  their  swift  strides  brought 
them  into  a  comparatively  empty  side  street. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  The  devil's  own  mess,"  Charlie  groaned. 

"  But  how,  in  this  little  Delphi,  could  you  manage 
to  get  into  great  trouble?  "  she  insisted,  wonderingly. 

"  It  isn't  me  at  all, —  it's  you!  "  he  blurted. 

"Me?  Some  new,  bad  thing  of  me?"  she  ques- 
tioned, staring.  "  But  I  have  done  nothing,  Shar- 
lee." 

"  Listen,  Inez,"  said  the  boy,  placing  one  hand  on 
her  arm  and  holding  it  tightly,  as  if  to  steady  her 
against  what  was  to  come.  "  There's  no  use  minc- 
ing matters.  You  have  got  to  be  told  straight  out. 
The  town  is  wild.  Mother  and  Cora  Whitman,  and 
that  Chicago  cat  who's  visiting  Cora  have  flooded 
Delphi  with  copies  of  your  book." 

"  My  book, —  my  poor  little  onlee  book,"  echoed 
Inez,  in  a  dazed  way.  "  So  my  *  sins  — '  " 

"  Yes,  your  sins  have  found  you  out,  all  right," 


324  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

supplemented  Charlie,  with  a  grimace  meant  for  a 
smile.  "  But  what  you  don't  seem  to  catch  onto 
is  the  fact  that,  unless  we  find  some  way  to  stop  'em, 
the  women  are  going  to  hold  you  up  to  public  dis- 
grace." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

*  FREE  LOVE "  AS  INTERPRETED  BY  DELPHI 

His  hand  fell  away.  In  this  lessening  of  the  clutch, 
Inez  for  the  first  time  perceived  how  the  boy  was 
trembling.  They  stared  at  each  other  for  a  long 
instant  without  speaking.  Tremulously  her  voice 
broke  the  silence. 

"  But,  Sharlee.  I  have  done  nothing  to  the 
women  of  this  village.  Many  have  come  to  see  me, 
—  oh,  I  knew  well  it  was  as  if  to  see  a  monkee  in 
its  cage  —  but  they  came.  I  was,  to  them  all, 
courteous.  At  the  first  I  try  quite  hard  to  win  them. 
When  I  saw  that  it  was  not  possible, —  still  I  re- 
main courteous.  And,  as  for  my  book, — "  here  the 
long  throat  straightened  — "  it  is  not  a  bad  book. 
It  is  sincere." 

"  That's  the  worst  thing  about  it,  that  it  is  sin- 
cere !  " 

She  gave  a  startled  exclamation.  "  Sharlee !  Is 
it  you,  my  frien',  who  will  say  a  thing  like  that?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  Inez,"  he  stammered,  "  I  was  speak- 
ing from  the  Delphi  standpoint.  You  know  I  al- 
ways thought  it  was  a  bully  book.  I've  kept  that 
copy  you  gave  me  under  lock  and  key.  Your  ideas 
seemed  fine  over  there.  But  here, —  now  that  we've 

come   to  Delphi !  — "     He  paused,  then  uncontrol- 

325 


326  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

lably  burst  out,  "  Oh,  Inez !  haven't  you  been  here 
long  enough  yourself  to  realise  that  your  opinions 
are  like  firebrands  flung  into  a  hayloft?  You  can't 
blame  ordinary  home  people  like  these  for  taking 
fright.  They  simply  will  not  stand  for  it;  and  un- 
less we  can  find  some  way  to  prevent — "  He  broke 
off,  unable  to  state  in  cold  words  the  possible  magni- 
tude of  her  humiliation. 

"  You  are  absurd,"  said  Inez,  haughtily,  though 
her  delicate  nostrils  had  begun  to  whiten  with  anger. 
"  I  have  no  fear.  What, —  now  I  ask  you,  Sharlee, 
you  who  have  seen  me  among  friends  in  my  own 
'ome, —  what  could  this  illiterate  feminine  canaille 
of  Delphi,  Iowa,  do  to  such  as  me?  " 

"  That  sounds  well,"  retorted  the  other,  not  alto- 
gether delighted  at  her  sweeping  scorn.  "  Marie 
Antoinette  said  the  same  thing ;  and  you  know  where 
she  got  it !  "  He  made  a  significant  gesture  across 
his  throat,  accompanied  by  a  clicking  sound. 

Again  Inez'  lips  twitched.  There  were  times 
when  her  sense  of  humour  was  a  little  inconvenient. 

"  Besides,"  the  boy  hurtled  on,  "  they  are  not  pro- 
posing any  personal  attack  on  you.  The  quaran- 
tine flag's  waving  over  your  head,  already.  It's 
John  they'll  tackle, —  John, —  and  through  his 
mother." 

At  last  she  blanched.  "  They  would  go  to  Jean's 
mother !  They  would  denounce  the  future, —  wife 
of  my  Jean  to  his  mother's  face.  No, —  no, —  they 
would  not  dare !  " 


"FREE  LOVE"  327 

"  A  bunch  of  females  organised  into  what  they 
call  a  '  Moral  Crusade '  will  dare  anything,  and  you 
know  it.  Look  at  the  English  suffragettes !  " 

The  bravado  was  all  gone.  Her  white  face 
twitched  as  if  with  a  convulsion  of  fear.  "  I 
begin  to  see  —  yes,  something  must  soon  be  done 
for  her  sake, —  she  must  not  be  broken  of 
heart, —  Jean's  mother.  She  is  too  gentle, —  too 
kind." 

"  Let's  go  back  to  the  house  and  talk  it  over 
quietly,"  suggested  Charlie.  "  I'm  perishing  for  a 
cigarette." 

In  utter  silence  they  walked  back  toward  the  Hem- 
ingway homestead.  Now  and  again  Charlie  sent  a 
compassionate  glance  to  the  beautiful,  set  face  be- 
side him.  His  young  heart  ached  for  her.  He 
longed  to  champion  her  cause  before  the  world, — 
especially  his  own  small  world  of  Delphi,  yet  he  was 
conscious  now  of  a  certain  male  satisfaction  that  she 
had  begun  to  "  see  reason." 

Mrs.  Hemingway  was  out  on  the  "  piazza,"  water- 
ing her  boxes  of  growing  plants.  She  pushed  her 
spectacles  back  to  smile  at  Charlie. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  come  back  with  Inez,"  she  said 
in  her  thin,  sweet  voice.  "  It  will  be  good  for  her 
to  have  young  companionship,  and  not  go  off  mop- 
ing in  her  room.  The  house  does  seem  so  empty 
without  John." 

With  a  sudden  impulse,  Inez  leaned  over  to  kiss 
the  fragile  cheek.  It  always  reminded  her  of  a  win- 


328  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

ter  rose  that  had  been  touched  by  frost.  Something 
quick  and  hot  stung  her  eyelids. 

"  You  are  dear  and  good, —  you  mother  of  my 
Jean,"  she  whispered. 

As  she  straightened  herself  to  her  full,  slim 
height,  the  older  lady  looked  up  adoringly.  "  Do 
you  wonder  I'm  proud  of  my  new  daughter?  "  she 
appealed  to  Charlie.  "  Nobody  knows  how  sweet 
she  is  to  me,  how  considerate  of  all  my  old-fashioned 
thoughts  and  ways.  Just  at  first  I  was  a  little  bit 
afraid  of  her,"  she  confessed  shyly,  but  with  radiant 
eyes.  "  She  was  so  tall  and  beautiful, —  like  a 
strange  lovely  orchid  among  my  old-fashioned  gar- 
den flowers.  But  now  that  we  have  come  to  know 
each  other  — "  A  loving  pat  on  Inez'  arm  completed 
the  sentence. 

"  Oh,  Inez  is  all  right,  all  right ! "  declared 
Charlie,  just  a  little  huskily.  "  And  John  is  the 
luckiest  fellow  on  the  upper  side  of  earth." 

"  John  thinks  so,"  nodded  the  old  lady.  "  Well," 
she  added,  with  a  change  of  voice  and  manner  to 
that  of  the  preoccupied  housewife.  "  I  must  be 
running  along.  This  is  my  busy  time  of  morning, 
as  Inez  knows.  Make  yourselves  at  home,  young 
people.  The  living-room  and  dining-room  are  both 
cleaned  up."  She  started  in  at  the  door,  but  paused 
on  the  threshold  to  say,  "  There's  a  tin  box  full  of 
fresh  cinnamon  cookies  in  the  sideboard,  Inez.  They 
are  the  kind  John  likes  so  well.  Try  and  make 
Charlie  eat  some." 


"FREE  LOVE" 

As,  finally,  the  light  sound  of  her  footsteps  trailed 
into  silence,  the  two  friends  once  more  sought  each 
other's  eyes.  In  those  of  the  woman  there  was  a 
suspicion  of  tears. 

She  put  her  handkerchief  furtively  to  them  as 
she  moved  into  the  darkened  living-room.  "  Ahe !  " 
she  sighed  aloud,  "  this  is  the  queer  life,  Sharlee ; 
and  more  especially  so  in  your  leetle  hometown  called 
Delphi." 

For  more  than  an  hour  they  talked.  The  sinister 
problem  was  discussed  from  every  point  of  view. 

"  The  only  thing  /  can  think  of  that  has  a  chance 
of  stopping  'em,"  said  Charlie  once,  rubbing  his  per- 
plexed young  head  into  a  yellow  mop,  "  is  for  you 
to  write  a  letter, —  a  sort  of  open  statement,  you 
know,  saying  that  you  are  willing  to  take  back  all 
that  stuff  you  wrote  against  marriage.  That's  the 
part  that's  got  'em  on  the  raw." 

"Take  back?  'Ow  do  you  mean,  *  take  back'?" 
cried  Inez,  puzzled  and  frowning.  "  Surely  you  do 
not  wish  me  recant  all  the  beliefs  and  opinions  of 
me?" 

Charlie  refused  to  cower.  "  You  needn't  really 
do  it,  you  know,"  he  urged  with  such  frank  duplicity 
that  his  listener  gasped.  "  Just  as  a  bluff .  To 
spike  their  guns,  as  it  were.  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  look  so  horrified.  This  English  translation 
makes  you  out  a  lot  worse  than  you  are.  You  told 
me  so  yourself.  John  was  furious  when  he  first  read 
it." 


S30  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Sharlee  Abbee,"  said  Inez,  when  she  could  get 
her  breath,  "  what  you  now  advise  is  simply  the  most 
hideously  immoral,  soul-destroying  thing  that  it  is 
in  the  human  imagination  to  think  up.  I  am 
ashamed  of  you." 

"  That's  all  right  about  your  being  ashamed,"  an- 
swered the  boy,  doggedly.  "  You're  talking  Paris 
high-brow,  and  I'm  talking  little  Delphi-on-the- 
spot." 

"  I  would  rather,"  shivered  Inez,  as  slowly  she 
got  to  her  feet,  "  be  chopped  into  small  and  living 
bits  than  be  so  contemptible  a  coward !  "  She  cast 
him  a  single,  withering  glance,  and  moved  haughtily 
across  the  room. 

Charlie  remained  seated.  He  did  not  look  at  her. 
Now  deliberately  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "  And  I 
admire  your  heroism ;  but  don't  let  us  get  away  from 
the  important  fact  that  it  isn't  you  who'll  be 
chopped, —  but  old  Mrs.  Hemingway  and  John." 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence,  broken  by  a  low 
strangled  cry.  Both  of  Inez'  hands  went  to  her 
temples.  "  Sharlee,  Sharlee,  you  will  drive  me  en- 
tirely mad ! " 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  that,  Inez.  Honest,  I  don't. 
I  only  want  to  help  you." 

She  flung  herself  slightly  from  side  to  side,  her 
head  thrown  back.  It  would  seem  that  she  strove 
for  more  air  than  the  crowded  room  could  give  her. 
Charlie  thought  of  a  beautiful  caged  panther,  newly 


"  FREE  LOVE  "  331 

trapped,  that  once  he  had  seen.  The  bars  against 
which  this  brilliant  and  impetuous  spirit  now  beat 
were  scarcely  less  tangible. 

"  Cela  est  impossible!  Tres, —  bien  —  impossi- 
ble! "  she  panted,  more  to  herself  than  to  him.  "  To 
bow  the  head  and  cringe,  before  such  creatures, —  to 
put  on  sackcloth  for  these  narrow  minds  to  jeer. 
Sharlee,  I  cannot ! "  She  paused  before  him,  white 
and  shaken. 

"  Sit  down  here,  Inez,"  the  boy  cried,  springing 
up.  "  You're  white  as  a  ghost.  We'll  try  to  figure 
out  something  else.  Though,  to  tell  the  truth,"  he 
added  in  a  lower  and  intensely  dejected  tone,  as  he 
drew  a  second  chair  near  hers,  "  my  bean  is  already 
empty,  I've  thought  so  hard." 

"  But  you  see  dis  for  yo'  own  sef, —  n'est-ce  pas?  " 
she  pleaded,  the  fine  edges  of  her  English  blurring, 
as  always,  under  great  stress  of  feeling.  "  For  me* 
Inez  de  Pierrefond,  to  make  public  confession  of  a 
fault  I  do  not  admit  to  be  de  fault — ?  Is  it  not 
beyond  imagining?  " 

The  boy  frowned,  looking  very  thoughtful. 
"  There  is  a  question  I  want  to  ask  you.  It's  from 
the  shoulder,  Inez.  It  goes  pretty  deep,  and  you 
may  resent  it." 

"  No, —  no, —  I  do  not  resent  anything  from  you. 
You  are  my  bes*  frien',  Sharlee, —  my  onlee  frien', 
now  that  my  Jean  is  not  near." 

"  Tell  me  then,"  he  demanded,  his  straight-for- 
ward eyes  on  hers ;  "  since  you  have  been  in  Anaericat 


332  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

—  and  especially  since  you've  been  here  among 
John's  own  surroundings, —  haven't  your  own  opin- 
ions begun  to  look  a  little  different  ?  " 

Inez'  lids  fell.     She  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"  You  know,"  he  hurried  on  as  if  to  give  her  more 
time  for  answering,  "  even  over  there  I  warned 
you  that  such  theories  would  never  go  down  at 
home." 

"  Somesing  is  different, —  I  have  felt  that  some- 
sing  in  myself  was  changing,"  she  murmured,  tremu- 
lously, "  but  until  now  I  did  not  suppose  it  might 
be  de  opinions  of  me." 

The  face  before  her  cleared  with  sudden  bright- 
ness. "  You  are  a  thoroughbred,  Inez,"  he  cried. 
"  If  this  is  a  fact,  I  believe  everything's  going  to 
come  right." 

"  Can  it  come  right,  an'  yet  me  not  be  seated  in 
de  public  pillory  ?  "  she  asked  with  such  naive  child- 
ishness that  it  was  all  the  boy  could  do  to  keep  from 
laughing. 

"  It  won't  be  as  bad  as  a  pillory,"  he  smiled,  lean- 
ing forward  and  taking  one  of  her  restless  hands  in 
his,  "  but  see  here,  Inez.  If  your  theories  are 
changing,  and  a  statement  of  them  would  save  all 
sorts  of  trouble  for  John, —  wouldn't  you  be  selfish, 
as  well  as  insincere  to  hold  them  back  for  the  sake 
of  your  personal  pride  ?  " 

"  Sharlee,  Sharlee,  you  should  'ave  been  the 
preacher,"  she  cried,  with  a  little  gleam  of  fun  that 
encouraged  and  delighted  him. 


"FREE  LOVE"  333 

"  Now,  let  us  go  back  a  leetle,"  she  suggested, 
withdrawing  her  hand  that  she  could  fold  them  both, 
sedately,  in  her  lap.  "  I  know  you  tell  me  once, — 
but  this  poor  —  bean, —  is  it  not?  —  of  mine, — " 
here  she  touched,  laughingly,  her  white  forehead, 
"  it  was  so  confuse,  I  do  not  remember  clear.  You 
saw  my  poor  book  in  your  'ouse,  for  the  first  time, 
las'  evening, —  is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Yes.  But  I'd  been  suspecting  something  wrong 
for  days.  I  couldn't  understand  my  mother's  re- 
fusing to  call  on  you.  She  had  intended  to.  I 
knew  it  wasn't  what  Delphi  speaks  of  as  your 
*  past,'  for  she'd  been  told  all  about  that,  and  be- 
sides, she  poses  for  being  rather  broadminded  about 
such  things.  Then  I  began  to  notice  that  the 
women  who  did  call  made  a  bee-line  for  mother  after- 
wards." 

"  Be'old  the  coming  Arsene  Lupin  of  Delphi,"  put 
in  Inez,  teasingly. 

"  Once  or  twice  I  ran  into  a  whispering  bunch, 
and  it  caused  such  a  commotion  that  Mother  took 
to  locking  her  visitors  and  herself  up  in  the  library. 
When  I  went  to  Mother  and  asked  her  up  and  down 
what  on  earth  was  hatching,  she  shut  her  lips  to- 
gether like  a  thin-shelled  oyster,  and  when  I  per- 
sisted, and  told  her  that  she  was  being  influenced 
not  to  be  decent  to  you,  she  only  said,  '  If  I  do  not 
call  upon  your  friend  Madame  de  Pierrefond,  you 
may  be  sure  I  have  my  reasons.' ' 

"  And  then,  las'  night  — "  reminded  the  listener, 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

smiling  a  little  sadly  at  the  boy's  mimicry  of  his 
parent. 

"  I  had  to  go  up  to  her  room  for  something.  I 
never  move  very  slow, —  as  you  may  hare  noticed, — 
and  before  she  could  hide  it  I  saw  your  book  lying 
open  on  the  dresser.  A  pencil  was  near  it,  and  I 
saw  that  several  passages  were  heavily  marked." 

"  Now  I  wonder  just  what  passages?  "  the  author 
murmured,  her  mind  speeding  to  her  unfortunate 
first-born  in  literature. 

"  Oh,  you  may  be  sure  they  were  the  most  im- 
moral ones  she  could  find !  " 

Inez  winced.  No  reproof,  she  knew,  had  been  in- 
tended. It  was  the  boy's  confident  tone,  rather  than 
his  words,  that  hurt  her.  She  had  not  thought  any- 
thing in  the  book  immoral.  "  Then  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  when  I  saw  that,"  said  Charlie,  lean- 
ing back,  "  I  understood  everything.  I  went  for 
Mother  like  blazes.  At  first  she  wouldn't  talk, — 
only  ordered  me  out  of  the  room.  I  said  I'd  be 
damned  if  I  went,  and  it  gave  her  such  a  shock  that 
she  let  out  everything." 

"  And  the  *  everything,' "  said  Inez,  slowly,  "  is 
that  I  am  to  be  denounced  to  the  gentlest,  kindest 
woman  in  the  world,  as  an  unfit  person  to  be  her 
son's  wife." 

"That's  it.     It  don't  sound  pretty,  does  it?" 

"  Have  you  gained  any  idea  of  the  time  when 
these  pious  furies  expect  to  make  an  attack  on  Mrs. 
'Emingway  ?  " 


"  FREE  LOVE  "  335 

"  I  don't  believe  they've  fixed  a  time.  They  enjoy 
the  preparations  too  much.  But,  from  what  I  know 
of  them  and  their  methods,  I  imagine  that — " 
He  hesitated. 

"  That  they  will  come  to  her  while  my  Jean  is 
away  ? " 

He  nodded.  "  They've  always  been  a  little  afraid 
of  John." 

Inez  rose  suddenly.  All  timidity  was  gone.  She 
moved  like  a  young  tree  in  the  wind.  "  Perhaps  we 
shall  yet  subdue  these  'ippocrites  and  their  Moral 
Crusade.  Now,  Sharlee — " 

Charlie  got  up,  but  without  noticeable  alacrity. 
Inez  saw  the  doubt  in  his  face. 

"  Have  no  fear, —  I  shall  do  nothing  without  your 
knowledge,  and  your  approval,  too,  my  good  friend. 
But  there  is  a  possibility  that  has  just  come  to  me. 
No,  I  cannot  explain  now.  First  of  all,  I  must 
know  whether  indeed  they  will  come  this  very  day. 
You  will  find  it  out,  even  if  again  you  must  swear 
before  your  good  mother."  She  gave  a  charming, 
mischievous  smile.  "  And  when  you  have  found  out, 
—  run  quick  —  queeck  back  to  me,  please,  an'  tell 
me.  It  is  most  important  that  I  know  before  they 
have  lef'  your  'ouse.  You  think  they  will  start  from 
there  in  a  body,  yes  ?  " 

"  I  guess  they  will.  Our  house  is  evidently  the 
base  of  operations.  I'll  declare,  Inez, —  it  makes 
me  perfectly  sick  to  think — " 

"  Never   mind    about    getting    sick ! "    said    Inez, 


336  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

gaily.  "  Find  out  when  the  enemy  is  to  charge,  and 
let  me  know." 

She  literally  pushed  him  from  the  room.  He 
started  off  a  good  deal  puzzled,  but  secure  in  her 
promise  to  do  nothing  without  first  informing  him. 

When  he  was  out  of  sight,  Inez  ran,  singing, 
through  the  hallways,  until  she  found  Mrs.  Hem- 
ingway and  Molly  in  the  kitchen.  Here  she  flut- 
tered about,  asking  questions,  making  remarks  so 
quaint  and  unusual  that  both  her  listeners  were  on 
the  verge  of  hysterics,  and  then  declaring  that  she 
wanted  to  put  on  a  different  dress,  and,  perhaps 
take  a  short  walk  before  dinner,  went,  still  singing 
gaily,  up  the  shabby  stairs. 

In  her  room  she  began  to  pull  about  her  various 
gowns.  She  was  searching  for  one  that  she  had  not 
yet  worn  in  Delphi.  It  had  been  designed  for  her 
to  wear  at  the  Longchamps  races.  At  last  it  was 
on  the  bed,  complete.  As  usual  it  was  grey,  but 
the  contrasting  tone  was,  this  time,  a  pale  luminous 
yellow.  In  the  sparse  embroidery  was  a  hint  of 
bronze  and  gold.  The  small  toque  that  went  with 
it,  a  mere  cap  of  grey  with  a  topaz  ornament  and 
a  single  attenuated  spray  of  yellow  feathers,  was 
as  chic  as  only  the  most  noted  of  Paris  master  mil- 
liners could  make  it. 

She  changed  swiftly,  betraying  in  every  movement 
a  subdued  excitement.  The  toque  was  tentatively 
tried  —  and  Inez  could  not  restrain  a  smile  of  pleas- 
ure at  the  effect  —  then  laid,  again,  on  the  bed. 


"FREE  LOVE"  337 

Near  it  was  a  sort  of  wrap, —  part  scarf,  part  man- 
tle, made  all  of  grey  crepe,  with  a  great  ruche  about 
the  throat,  and  exquisite,  pendent  lines  that  had  the 
look  of  mingled  mist  and  rain.  "  It  is  well,"  said 
Inez,  aloud. 

Now  she  went  over  to  the  window,  taking  a  low 
rocking  chair.  She  had  no  desire  to  look  out,  but 
crouched  a  little  forward,  one  elbow  on  her  knee, 
the  hand  supporting  her  chin.  Here  she  fell  into 
a  sort  of  reverie,  or  rather,  a  deep  withdrawal  into 
thought,  for  her  face  was  tense  and  her  brows  knit- 
ted; from  which  she  was  aroused  by  the  tinkle  of 
the  silver  dinner-bell. 

During  the  meal  she  was  so  sparklingly  bright, 
that  old  Mrs.  Hemingway  could  scarcely  eat  for 
looking  at  and  listening  to  her. 

Immediately  after  she  went  into  the  living-room, 
going  to  a  front  window  to  see  if,  by  any  chance, 
Charlie  should  be  on  his  way. 

The  loud  clatter  of  hoofs  announced  the  approach 
of  a  spirited  driver.  Inez  drew  back,  but  not  before 
Walter  Hemingway,  seated  high  in  his  new  red- 
wheeled  buggy,  had  caught  sight  of  her  and  waved 
an  exaggerated  greeting.  To  her  dismay  he 
stopped.  There  was  no  escaping  him.  She  sighed 
and  moved  restlessly.  Never  was  a  visitor  less  wel- 
come. 

He  burst  in  at  the  door,  a  cyclone  of  geniality. 

"  So  Johnny's  left  you,  eh?  Well,  it's  up  to  the 
rest  of  us  to  see  that  you  don't  get  lonesome !  "  She 


338  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

submitted  with  what  grace  she  could  muster,  to  the 
immense,  enveloping  hand-grasp.  Seen  in  the  clear 
afternoon  light,  the  Don  Juan  of  Delphi  was  even 
less  attractive  than,  at  first,  she  had  thought  him. 
He  was  covered,  hair,  hands,  face,  boots,  even  in  his 
garments,  with  a  thinly-spread  sheen,  as  of  grease. 
Also, —  but  was  this  partly  her  fancy  ?  —  his  bold 
eyes  were  more  searching,  and  less  veiled  with  con- 
ventional respect. 

"  Say,"  he  broke  out  abruptly.  "  How  does  a 
ride  in  my  new  buggy  strike  you?  " 

He  had  placed  himself  directly  in  front  of  her, 
his  feet  wide  apart,  and  was  looking  down  steadily, 
with  an  unpleasantly  familiar  grin  on  his  highly- 
coloured  face. 

"  Your  buggee?  "  she  echoed.  "  I  do  not  onder- 
stan' — Ah,  pardon,  but  I  am  stupid.  The  vehicle 
out  there,"  she  nodded  toward  the  window,  "  is,  I 
believe,  called  the  buggee.  It  is  a  very  gay  buggee." 

"  There's  a  cracker-jack  of  a  road  along  the 
river.  Quiet  as  a  church  this  time  of  day.  Come 
on." 

Were  her  senses  leaving  her,  or  did  the  man  actu- 
ally attempt  a  knowing  wink  ?  In  any  case,  her  only 
course  was  to  ignore  it. 

"  I  thank  you,  kind  uncle  of  my  Jean,"  she  an- 
swered, forcing  a  chilly  smile,  "  but  I  do  not  see 
why  you  should  suppose  I  would  care  to  go  along 
a  road  where  there  are  no  other  persons." 

"  Aw,  cut  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  laughing  in  apparent 


339 

delight.  "  You  needn't  put  on  any  of  those  frills 
with  me.  I'm  safe." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  safe,"  said  Inez^ 
opening  her  eyes  still  wider.  "  I  would  be  triste 
to  think  that  the  Oncle  — " 

"  Can  that  Uncle  business,  will  you?  "  he  inter- 
rupted rudely,  though  the  wide  grin  did  not  lessen. 
"We'll  forget  John,  too, —  just  while  he's  gone. 
When  the  cat's  away,  you  know." 

Yes,  it  was  insult, —  deliberate,  calculated  insult. 
Inez'  heart  sickened,  but  externally  she  remained 
ignorant  and  composed. 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  mean  to  be  kind,"  she  re- 
plied to  him,  choosing  and  pronouncing  her  words 
with  care,  "  but  I  cannot  accept  your  invita- 
tion." 

"  Previous  engagement,  eh  ?  "  he  queried,  with  an 
intonation  that  she  did  not  relish. 

"  As  it  happens, —  yes.  I  am  expecting  a 
friend." 

"  It  must  be  that  young  snipe  Charlie  Abbey. 
He's  the  only  —  Oh,  rats !  He  don't  count  any- 
way. He's  a  waster.  Gone  all  to  the  bad." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?  "  flared  Inez.  "  He  is  not 
bad.  He  is  a  clean,  nice  boy." 

"  So  you  defend  the  cub !  Well,  now,  you've  got 
to  come  with  me.  I  owe  it  to  John  to  break  up  this 
little  party." 

"  Take  your  hand  from  my  arm  —  instantly  — 
do  you  hear,"  said  Inez,  in  a  tone  so  low  and  dan- 


340         '     THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

gerous    that,    before    realising    it,    he    had    obeyed. 

At  last  his  leering  smile  was  gone.  A  dull  purple 
mottled  his  face. 

"  There's  no  use  keeping  up  this  bluff,"  he  said. 
"  Do  you  know  how  I  spent  last  night?  " 

"  No, —  and  I  do  not  wish  to  hear." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do !  I  sat  up  reading  that  little 
book  of  yours." 

He  paused,  his  expression  that  of  an  archer  who 
has  just  pierced  the  centre  of  his  target.  Inez,  her 
attention  arrested,  stared  at  him.  As  his  meaning 
dawned  on  her  she  threw  back  her  head,  and  with 
all  the  scorn  of  which  her  wonderful  voice  was  capable 
said  to  him :  "  The  real  meaning  of  my  book  would 
be  utterly  impossible  of  comprehension  to  a  mind 
like  yours." 

"  Don't  try  to  flatter  me,"  he  grinned,  the  anger 
of  his  face  disappearing  before  other  and  more 
nauseous  traits.  "  I  may  live  in  Delphi,  but  little 
Walter  knows  as  well  as  any  other  man  that  the 
world  is  round." 

"  Oh, —  oh, — "  gasped  Inez,  looking  from  side  to 
side  for  escape. 

"  Be  a  sport  now,"  he  urged,  again  seizing  her. 
"  John  will  never  know." 

"  Mr.  Hemingway,"  said  the  woman,  her  great 
ej'es  blazing  full  on  him,  "  you  must  stop  these  in- 
sults, or  I  shall  have  to  throw  myself  upon  the  pro- 
tection of  your  wife." 

"My  wife,  eh?  —  my  wife!"  roared  Walter,  as 


"  FREE  LOVE  " 

if  at  some  specially  good  joke.  "  Why,  Clary, — 
she's  read  it  too!  " 

He  still  held  her  arm.  Inez,  dizzy  and  stunned 
by  all  that  his  last  words  suggested  did  not,  for  the 
moment,  realise  his  touch. 

"  You  foul  and  unclean  beast,"  she  whispered  — 
but  her  lips  trembled  so  violently  that  she  could  not 
be  sure  he  heard.  "  You  — " 

"  Free-love !  That's  a  great  doctrine,  ain't  it, 
kid  ?  "  she  heard  the  thick  lips  murmur,  and  in  an- 
other instant  his  arms  held  her  in  a  dreadful  grip, 
the  flushed  face  was  bent  down,  seeking  hers.  She 
struggled  silently.  From  the  back  of  the  house  came 
the  low  buzz  of  the  front  door's  electric  bell. 

"  Are  you  entirely  mad !  "  panted  Inez,  terror  giv- 
ing her  new  strength  with  which  to  keep  him  at  bay. 
"  Some  one  is  coming !  " 

"  Great  bluff er, —  ain't  you,  kid  ?  "  he  chuckled 
thickly,  and  again  the  odious  arms  encircled  her. 

The  door  of  the  living-room  flew  open,  and  on  the 
threshold  stood  May  Armstrong.  Fortunately 
Molly,  after  admitting  the  visitor,  had  sped  back  to 
the  kitchen  to  rescue  a  threatened  cake. 

"  Pardon  me! "  said  May,  clearly.  "  I  didn't 
dream  I  was  running  into  anything  like  this.  Guess 
I'll  butt  out  again." 

She  wheeled  to  go,  but  Inez,  overtaking  her,  cried 
out  hysterically.  "  No  —  no  —  I  thank  God  you 
have  come !  Do  not  leave  me, —  I  entreat  you.  It 
was  a  mistake." 


342  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Such  things  generally  are,"  retorted  the  woman 
with  a  coarse  laugh.  "  Especially  when  you're 
caught  with  the  goods." 

"  You  must  not  leave, —  I  say  you  must  not 
leave — "  implored  Inez,  seizing  one  of  the  plump 
white-gloved  hands  in  both  her  own,  and  literally 
dragging  May  toward  her.  "  It  has  been  too  ter- 
rible!—" 

May  suddenly  flung  off  the  clinging  hands,  and 
facing  the  man,  said  between  her  teeth,  "  Well,  and 
what  is  your  version,  Walter  Hemingway  ?  " 

There  was  not  only  anger  in  her  voice,  but  such 
authority,  such  certainty  of  her  right  to  demand, 
that  Inez  turned  to  see  how  it  would  be  taken. 

To  her  amazement,  the  man's  whole  figure  had 
undergone  a  swift  transformation.  The  great  shoul- 
ders bent  together.  His  eyes,  downcast,  followed 
the  nervous  movement  of  a  heavily-shod  foot,  drag- 
ging sidewise,  back  and  forth  upon  the  carpet.  No 
schoolboy,  caught  red-handed,  was  ever  more  pal- 
pably delinquent. 

All  at  once,  with  a  nauseating  pang  of  insight, 
Inez  understood. 

"Well?"  reiterated  Mrs.  Armstrong,  on  a  higher 
key,  "  I'm  waiting." 

"  Now,  don't  you  get  huffy,  May,"  stammered  the 
man,  and  sent  her  a  sheepish,  conciliatory  look  from 
under  his  heavy  brows.  "It  was  only  a  joke  — 
honest.  I  read  her  fool  book  last  night,  and  I  just 
took  a  notion  to  find  out  for  myself  — " 


"  FREE  LOVE  "  343 

He  broke  off,  with  a  foolish  laugh. 

"  Whether  she  carried  her  Free-love  theories  into 
practice  ?  " 

"  Something  like  that.     It  was  only  a  joke,  May." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  particular  brand  of  j  oke 
is  up  to  your  nephew?  "  she  asked,  but  with  less 
acerbity. 

"  As  for  you,"  she  burst  out,  flinging  herself 
around  to  Inez,  her  face  one  blaze  of  jealous  fury, 
"  I  came  here  to  do  you  a  good  turn, —  to  put  you 
wise  before  it  was  too  late.  Now  the  old  cats  may 
claw  you  to  a  fare-ye-well,  for  all  I  care." 

"  Go !  —  only  go.  Both  of  you  dreadful  —  dread- 
ful people.  I  wonder  that  you  dare  come  into  a 
house  like  this,"  said  Inez,  covering  her  eyes  with 
both  hands. 

She  heard  May  Armstrong  gasp.  When  she 
spoke  it  was  to  Walter.  Astonishment  had  sobered 
her  voice  to  an  unusual  quiet.  "  Well,  what  do  you 
know  about  that? "  she  queried,  blankly.  "  And 
she  been  living  openly  with  John  Hemingway  for 
three  years ! " 

"  She's  not  goin'  to  do  it  much  longer.  Not  in 
this  town,"  declared  Walter,  leading  his  companion 
toward  the  door. 

"  Of  course  she  led  you  on,"  was  May's  last  com- 
ment. 

When  Inez,  sick  and  trembling,  looked  up  again, 
she  saw  them  moving  slowly  down  the  walk,  their 
bodies  very  close.  Holding  May  tenderly  by  the 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

arm  with  his  left  hand,  Walter  was  using  his  right 
to  make  emphatic  gestures  of  explanation. 

So  engrossed  they  were  that,  at  the  gate,  they 
narrowly  escaped  collision  with  Charlie  Abbey. 

"  Hi,  Charlie.  You  seem  in  a  hurry ! "  shouted 
Walter,  as  he  drew  back.  "  Needn't  run.  She's 
waitin' ! "  The  loud  voice  and  louder  laugh  were 
evidently  meant  to  be  overheard. 

Inez  rushed  to  the  door.  "  Good  Lord,  what's 
the  matter  with  those  two? — "  Charlie  began  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Never  min*  those  two.  They  are  swines  of  the 
gutter.  What  is  your  news  ?  " 

"  The  whole  bunch  is  in  the  library  now.  I  lis- 
tened at  the  door, —  yes,  I  did.  I  don't  care  a  hang 
if  it  was  low.  They  are  getting  ready  to  start." 

"  Around  here, —  to  Mrs.  'Emingway  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Go  into  that  living-room,  Charlie, —  an'  don't 
move  till  I  come  back." 

"  What  on  earth  ?  — "  the  boy  wondered,  but  he 
spoke  to  flying  heels.  Already  Inez  was  half  way 
up  the  stairs. 

"  Now ! "  she  cried,  whirling  down  again  before 
he  had  fairly  caught  his  breath.  "  The  one  great 
question  is, — " 

"  Where  do  you  think  you're  going, —  with  your 
hat  and  cape?  " 

"  Straight  to  your  mother's  house,  and  face  them 
all." 


"  FREE  LOVE  "  345 

The  boy  started  and  blinked  as  if  a  charge  of 
dynamite  had  just  exploded.  "Are  you  crazy?" 

"  No, —  but  a  few  others  soon  will  be.  It  is  the 
onlee  thing  for  me  to  do,  Sharlee.  I  do  not  fear 
them, —  no !  An'  the  one  question, —  which  before  I 
started, —  is  — 'ave  you  the  courage  to  go  to  dat 
'ouse  wid  me?  " 

An  instant  longer  he  stared,  then  his  face  cleared. 
"  Of  all  the  plucky  — "  he  half  whispered,  and  after- 
ward, with  grim  determination,  "  Come" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
AT  BAY 

BEHIND  the  massive,  carved,  pseudo-Italian  table 
that  dominated  her  library,  sat  little  Mrs.  Abbey, 
rigidly  enthroned. 

A  cushion  had  been  placed  beneath  in  order 
that  she  might  be  given  the  appearance  of  more 
inches  than  those  granted  by  nature.  In  front  of 
her,  ranged  in  a  thick,  irregular  semicircle  upon  a 
medley  of  chairs  brought  indiscriminately  from  din- 
ing-room, bedrooms,  hall,  and,  in  one  instance 
(Henry  McMaster  was,  at  the  moment,  squirming 
on  the  instance)  from  the  kitchen,  sat  a  company  of 
about  fifteen  people,  the  gentler  sex  predominating 
largely. 

Most  of  the  books  in  this  celebrated  library  — 
often  referred  to  as  the  "  Pride  of  Delphi  " —  were 
in  sets.  In  long,  unbroken  rectangles  they  shone 
out,  olive  and  red  and  blue,  with  here  and  there  the 
softening  of  a  more  neutral  grey,  each  book  as  im- 
maculate as  if  it  had  come,  that  instant,  from  the 
binder's  press. 

The  wall-space  left  between  the  "  sectional "  book- 
shelves was  crowded  with  neatly  framed  Braun  pho- 
tographs of  European  masterpieces.  These  were 

all  of  the  same  subject,  the  smiling  young  Madonna 

346 


AT  BAY  347 

and  the  Child.  Mrs.  Abbey  spoke  fondly  of  them 
as  her  "  Collection  of  Virgins,"  and,  Bostonian 
though  she  was,  admitted  to  something  resembling 
plebeian  pride  in  them. 

Besides  the  women  whose  long  friendship  with 
Emma  Hemingway,  or  kinship,  either  with  her  or 
with  John's  father,  warranted  participation  in  so 
serious  a  convention,  there  were  present  the  Rever- 
end Mr.  Todd,  "  Elder  "  Droppers  and,  in  a  far 
corner,  penned  in  by  his  wife's  uncompromising  bulk, 
the  scared  and  rabbit-like  countenance  of  Henry  Mc- 
Master. 

Mrs.  Abbey  cleared  her  throat  slightly.  It  was 
the  signal  that  she  was  about  to  resume  an  harangue 
just  interrupted  by  her  own  overwrought  sensibili- 
ties. The  ladies  all  stirred,  fixing  expectant  eyes 
upon  their  leader. 

"  As  I  said,"  she  began  —  her  voice  low  and  pre- 
cise, indicating  the  return  of  her  self-control  — "  there 
is  no  need  for  me  to  repeat  how  inexpressively  pain- 
ful we  all  feel  this  necessity  to  be  — " 

She  paused  again.  Murmurs  of  sympathetic  ap- 
proval swept  round  the  shell  of  the  temporary  si- 
lence. 

"  But,  friends, —  it  is  our  duty."  The  noble  word 
rang  clear.  "  And  in  the  thirty  years  of  my  resi- 
dence among  you,  I  have  never  yet  known  the  wives 
and  mothers  of  Delphi  to  shirk  a  duty!  " 

"  Hear !  Hear !  "  boomed  the  ecclesiastical  tones 
of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Todd. 


348  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Hear!     Hear!  "  shrilled  the  excited  ladies. 

"  Say  '  Hear !  Hear ! '  Henry,"  commanded  Mrs. 
McMaster,  giving  her  husband  an  indignant  nudge. 

"  Here,  here,"  faltered  Henry,  shrinking  before 
the  eyes  he  felt  would  be  turned  upon  him.  To  him- 
self he  added  wretchedly,  "  But  I  wish  to  gosh  I 
wasn't." 

Mrs.  Abbey  now  rose  majestically  to  her  feet. 
There  was  a  wooden  stool  beneath  them. 

"  We  are  unanimous,  then,  in  our  resolution  to 
band  ourselves  together,  and,  so  far  as  it  is  within 
our  power,  to  expel,  from  our  midst,  the  evil  influence 
which  has  so  unexpectedly  confronted  us  ?  " 

"  Yes, —  indeed!  "  piped  Cora  Whitman,  barely 
saving  herself  from  the  nervous  little  giggle  that  had 
become  habitual. 

"  What  gets  me,"  remarked  Kate  McMaster,  "  is 
the  nerve  of  the  woman  in  coming  here  at  all." 
Then,  mindful  of  her  dignity  as  Leader  of  a  Cause 
for  Women,  she  added,  sharply,  "  Not  that  John 
Hemingway  isn't  just  as  bad,  bringin'  her." 

"No, —  no,"  protested  Cora.  "You  can't  judge 
men  by  the  same  standards." 

From  a  little  distance  where  she  had  been  seated, 
occupied  as  usual  with  needle  work,  came  Clara 
Hemingway's  flat,  vibrating  voice. 

"  If  you  did,"  she  corroborated,  "  there  wouldn't 
be  room  in  Delphi  for  all  the  indignation  meetin's." 

For  some  inexplicable  reason  Kate  McMaster 
flushed.  After  a  moment  of  restless  indecision,  she 


AT  BAY  349 

cried  out :  "  Well,  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
Let's  keep  to  business.  We're  all  agreed  that  John's 
got  to  be  saved  if  we  can  save  him,  and  there  ain't 
any  time  to  lose.  Mrs.  Abbey  has  suggested  that 
we  put  the  facts  before  John's  mother." 

"  There  seems  no  other  way,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey,  sor- 
rowfully. "As  usual,  it  is  the  mother's  heart  that 
must  be  crushed."  She  sent  a  lingering,  appealing 
glance  along  the  wall  of  smiling  Madonnas,  claiming, 
as  it  were  with  them,  a  spiritual  identity. 

"  It  seems  right  hard  on  Emma ;  and  John  her  only 
one,"  commented  Clara,  as  she  held  up  a  needle  to 
thread  it  against  the  nearest  window  light ;  "  but  I 
guess  it's  about  like  Mrs.  Abbey  says ;  it's  the  only 
way  to  reach  him." 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Abbey,"  parleyed  Cora  Whitman, 
her  thin  face  eager,  "  but  suppose  even  then  he  re- 
fuses to  believe.  You  know  how  men  are !  " 

Several  of  the  elder  women  exchanged,  behind 
the  ardent  speaker's  back,  glances  of  pity,  not  un- 
tinged  with  scorn.  Their  eyes  said  to  each  other, 
"  Poor,  faded  thing.  I  wonder  if  she  thinks  she 
may  land  him,  after  all?  " 

"  Well,  well,"  remarked  Mr.  Todd,  impressively, 
"  it  has  been  discussed  and  agreed,  I  believe,  that 
the  mother  of  this  misguided  young  man  is  to  be  the 
lever  which,  as  we  all  prayerfully  hope,  is  to  turn 
him  from  darkness  back  to  light.  The  only  remain- 
ing question  is  when  and  how  the  unfortunate  lady 
is  to  be  approached." 


350  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Under  cover  of  the  pause  of  admiration  following 
this  ornate  speech,  Cora,  who  was  an  Episcopalian, 
leaned  confidentially  toward  Aunt  Clara  to  observe, 
"Hasn't  Mr.  Todd  a  wonderful  gift  of  words?" 

"  He  can  talk,"  admitted  that  downright  person, 
"  but  I  have  heard  our  Mr.  Meigs  pray  for  twenty 
minutes  and  never  call  the  Lord  by  the  same  name 
twice." 

The  low,  nasal  voice  was  uncompromisingly  audi- 
ble. Mrs.  Abbey  looked  annoyed.  The  Reverend 
Mr.  Todd's  Adam's  apple  could  be  seen  to  work 
violently  over  the  top  of  his  starched  clerical  col- 
lar. 

"  You  said  you  were  going  to  take  a  copy  of  her 
book  along,"  reminded  Kate  McMaster,  with  un- 
necessary abruptness,  and  nodded  first  to  Mrs. 
Abbey,  and  then  toward  the  condemned  book,  lying, 
Exhibit  A,  for  the  prosecution,  in  plain  sight  on  the 
table. 

"  I  feel  it  to  be  necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Abbey,  with 
a  resigned  sigh. 

"  Nothin'  like  seein'  things  in  black  and  white," 
put  in  Elder  Droppers,  at  which  his  wife,  and  sev- 
eral other  ladies  besides,  turned  to  give  him  com- 
mendatory glances. 

"  Then,"  cried  Mrs.  McMaster,  "  let's  go  now  and 
get  it  over."  She  sprang  up,  her  voice  a  trumpet 
call  to  arms. 

Several  rose.  Others  looked  anxiously  toward 
their  elected  leader,  or  else,  toward  the  still  flushed 


AT  BAY  851 

Mr.  Todd.  On  both  of  these  faces  could  be  seen 
strong  disapproval  of  Mrs.  McMaster's  sudden  as- 
sumption of  authority.  The  situation  threatened  to 
become  intense,  when  all  at  once,  the  sound  of  hurry- 
ing footsteps  without,  followed  by  a  loud  masterful 
knock  on  the  door,  caused  all  else  to  be  forgotten  in 
a  new  and  common  consternation. 

"  Is  the  door  locked  ?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Abbey. 

"  It  is,"  asseverated  Mr.  Todd,  and  rose  with  slow 
dignity. 

"  One  of  'em's  Walter,"  remarked  Clara  Heming- 
way without  looking  up. 

"  But  the  other?  "  panted  Cora  Whitman. 

"  She  wouldn't  dare !  It  can't  be,"  came  from 
various  feminine  lips. 

"  Here !  What  do  you  think  you're  doin'  in  there 
anyway?  "  came  Walter's  excited  voice. 

"  Who's  with  you,  Walter  ?  "  questioned  his  wife, 
—  not  very  clearly,  for  she  was  biting  off  a  thread, 
but  Walter  heard. 

"  May  Armstrong.  Who'd  you  think !  "  Here 
came  a  hoarse  angry  laugh.  "  Not  her.  She's 
fixed.  We've  just  come  from  there." 

"  Oh.     Open  it  quick!  "  vibrated  Cora. 

As  the  key  was  turned  Walter  flung  wide  the  door 
so  violently  that  the  reverend  gentleman  who  had 
performed  the  service  was  nearly  thrown  upon  his 
broadcloth  back.  May  Armstrong  pushed  by  them 
both,  and  stood  still,  surveying  the  room  like  a  con- 
queror. 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Well !  "  she  exploded.  "  I've  seen  with  my  own 
eyes !  That  woman's  bad  as  you  make  'em !  " 

"  What  did  you  see  ?  Tell  us.  We  ought  to 
know,"  came  in  a  shrill  chorus. 

May  opened  her  lips,  shut  them  tightly,  and  sent 
a  long,  slow,  meaning  glance  in  the  direction  of  Aunt 
Clara.  That  sphinx-like  person  had  started  a  new 
hem.  She  had  shown  no  excitement  as  the  newcomers 
made  their  dramatic  entrance.  Not  once  had  her 
small,  inscrutable  eyes  been  lifted. 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  she  now  said,  her  voice  un- 
emotional, unmodulated,  and  quite  as  usual.  "  I 
know  a  great  deal  more  about  my  husband  than  folks 
think  I  know." 

At  this  a  gasp  went  round.  Mrs.  Abbey  rapped 
sharply  on  the  table. 

"  At  least,  Mrs.  Armstrong,"  she  declaimed  aus- 
terely, for  it  was  common  property  that  May  was 
not  persona  grata  in  those  Madonna  hung  walls, 
"  give  us  as  —  er  —  as  —  guardedly  as  you  can, 
some  idea  of  your  grounds  for  this  new  accusa- 
tion." 

"  Well,"  began  May.  She  seldom  started  a  sen- 
tence without  this  introductory  exclamation.  "  Since 
Mrs.  Hemingway  is  wise  already  — " 

"  Here! "  broke  in  Walter.  "  Let  me  talk."  He 
pushed  her  aside  with  no  gentle  hand,  adding,  with 
an  attempt  at  jocosity,  "When  a  bunch  o'  you 
wimmin-folks  get  together — " 

"  It   is,   indeed,    more    suitable    that   you   should 


AT  BAY  353 

speak,  Mr.  Hemingway,"  agreed  the  Lady  Chair- 
man. 

"  Hear !  Hear !  "  gave  forth,  respectively,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Todd,  and  Elder  Droppers. 

May,  with  a  large,  fat  shrug,  sat  down  in  the  near- 
est chair. 

"  It  all  came  out  of  my  readin'  that  book  o'  hers," 
said  Walter,  looking  round  upon  the  interested  faces. 
"  I  had  never  seen  the  thing  until  last  night.  Clara 
made  me  read  it." 

"  Kate  made  me,"  volunteered  Henry  from  the  kit- 
chen chair,  but  no  one  noticed  him. 

"And  it's  some  book!  Believe  me!"  he  ejacu- 
lated, rubbing  the  back  of  his  neck  with  a  gesture  he 
felt  to  be  both  arch  and  humorous.  "  I  couldn't 
help  thinkin'  it  over.  I  guess  the  rest  of  you  have 
been  in  pretty  much  the  same  fix." 

Subdued  murmurs  of  acquiescence  brought  to  his 
lips  a  pleased  smile. 

"  And,  this  mornin',  when  I  heard  of  John's 
bein'  out  o'  town,  it  come  to  me  all  of  a  sudden 
that  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  stunt  to  go  around  there 
—  with  my  buggy  —  and  see  for  myself  whether 
any  woman  would  be  gam  —  be  fool  enough,  I 
mean,  to  live  up  to  the  sort  of  dope  she  handed  out 
in  writin'." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  had  to  take  your  buggy" 
snapped  Kate  McMaster. 

Mrs.  Abbey's  face  had  grown  severe.  "  My  dear 
Mr.  Hemingway,"  she  protested,  clipping  her  words 


354  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

like  separate  bits  of  wire.  "  Surely  you  did  not  in- 
tend to  use  the  term  '  live  up  to ' !  Rather,  you 
should  have  said,  '  sink  down  to.' ' 

"  The  drinks  are  on  me ! "  grinned  Walter,  waving 
a  concessive  hand. 

"Oh,  don't  interrupt  him!"  put  in  Cora,  fever- 
ishly. 

"  /  went,"  said  Walter,  in  a  deep,  resounding 
voice,  and  closed  his  thick  lips  tightly,  letting  the  si- 
lence speak.  One  could  hear,  almost,  the  heartbeats 
of  his  audience. 

"Well  —  well?  Go  on.  Don't  stop,"  came  at 
last  from  various  parted  lips. 

Walter  allowed  his  countenance  to  assume  an  ex- 
pression of  mournful  regret.  "  It's  jest  as  May 
says.  She's  bad  as  you  make  'em." 

"  But  that's  not  telling  anything,"  persisted  Cora, 
"  What  happened?  What  did  you  see?  " 

Her  small  eyes,  darting  like  shuttles  about  the 
room,  finally  imbedded  themselves  in  the  amused  ones 
of  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"  My  child,"  said  May  impressively,  speaking 
from  her  height  of  superior  worldliness.  "  The  real 
question  to  ask  is  what  would  have  happened  if  I 
hadn't  blown  in  when  I  did." 

"  Say,  May ! "  bellowed  Walter,  in  huge  delight. 
"  Never  mind  about  makin'  things  out  worse  than 
they  are." 

"  Oh, —  Oh!  "  Cora  had  faltered,  cowering  down 
in  her  chair.  While  yet  the  virginal  unit  flushed, 


AT  BAY 

paled  and  palpitated  in  the  wake  of  May's  more  than 
suggestive  comment,  that  buoyant  person,  turning 
her  back,  leaned  to  a  group  of  matrons. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  set  up  for  one  of  your  timid 
ingenues"  (she  pronounced  the  word  "inge-jee- 
nooze"),  she  confided,  quite  superfluously.  "But 
the  minute  I  set  foot  in  that  room,  the  situation 
was  as  plain, —  well,  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  my 
face." 

Mrs.  Walter  Hemingway  paused,  for  the  first 
time,  in  her  sewing.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  let  them 
rest,  with  calm  deliberation,  on  May's  somewhat 
thick-set  nose.  It  was  obvious  that  the  scrutiny 
brought  satisfaction. 

Since  her  abortive  attempt  at  domination,  Mrs. 
McMaster  had  not  resumed  her  chair.  Her  large 
face,  under  its  thatch  of  untidy  clay-coloured  hair, 
had  been  growing  steadily  larger  and  more  intense 
of  hue.  It  had  now  acquired  blotches  of  angry 
purple. 

"  Ain't  we  wastin'  a  whole  lot  of  time  in  talk  ?  " 
she  now  challenged.  "  What  /  want  to  ask  Walter, 
is, —  is  Emma  Hemingway  at  home?  " 

"  Is  she  ever  anywhere  else  ?  "  remarked  May,  flip- 
pantly. 

Kate  ignored  her,  keeping  her  belligerent  eyes  on 
Walter.  "  And,  I  suppose,"  she  went  on,  "  that  if 
you've  jest  come  from  that  de  Pierrefond  woman, 
she's  downstairs,  and  not  in  bed,  as  she  generally 
is,  mornin's." 


356  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Let's  hope  she's  not,"  said  May,  with  an  at- 
tempted drawl.  "  Charlie  Abbey's  with  her." 

Mrs.  Abbey  struck  the  table  so  sharply  that  most 
of  the  women  jumped. 

"  As  Mrs.  McMaster  has  just  remarked,  we're 
wasting  time  that  might  be  better  spent.  I  move 
that  we  adjourn,  going  at  once  to  Mrs.  Heming- 
way." 

Aunt  Clara  began  to  fold  up  her  sewing.  "  Sup- 
pose when  we  get  there,"  she  suggested,  "  7-nez  in- 
sists on  bein'  in  the  room  ?  " 

At  this,  several  of  the  excited  faces  showed  a  hint 
of  doubt.  Strangely  enough,  it  was  upon  the  mascu- 
line countenance  of  Walter  Hemingway,  that  con- 
sternation found  its  most  noticeable  resting  place. 
He  opened  his  mouth  for  a  protest.  Clara,  now 
standing  by  his  side,  cleared  her  throat,  and  he  was 
silent. 

"  Let  her  be  present  then ! "  cried  Mrs.  Abbey, 
after  a  moment  of  conflicting  thoughts.  "  Let  her, 
if  she  wishes,  drag  in  my  son  to  witness  her  humilia- 
tion. Perhaps  it  will  be  as  well  for  Charles  to  real- 
ise that  his  mother,  at  least,  is  striving  to  uphold 
the  dignity  and  morality  of  his  native  town." 

"  Excellent.  .Etf-cellent !  "  carolled  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Todd. 

Elder  Droppers  began  unfolding  his  long  legs. 
Henry  McMaster,  in  his  corner,  alternately  stood  and 
sat  in  an  agony  of  indecision  until  his  wife,  reaching 
out,  snatched  him  to  her  elbow. 


AT  BAY  357 

Now  Mrs.  Abbey  descended  from  her  footstool. 
Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  face  pale  under  the 
spiritual  pressure  of  her  Cause  for  Righteousness. 
With  the  faintest  quiver  of  repugnance,  she  leaned 
over  to  take  up  the  anathematised  book. 

"  Permit  me,  dear  lady,"  murmured  Mr.  Todd  in 
her  ear,  and  unflinchingly  gathered  the  Thing  of 
Evil  into  his  own  fat  hands.  It  was  a  delicate  com- 
pliment, and  Mrs.  Abbey  gave  him,  for  reward,  a 
particularly  cordial,  if  slightly  tremulous,  smile. 

He  stepped  aside,  that  she  might  precede  him.  In- 
stinctively the  standing  company  fell  back,  making 
a  clear  passage  to  the  door.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Todd  offered  a  large  and  flabby  arm.  The  little 
lady  took  it  gratefully,  while  the  eyes  of  the  neglected 
Mrs.  Todd  moistened  with  pride,  and  a  sort  of  chas- 
tened humility,  that  she  should  have  been  found 
worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  such  a  man. 

Walter  stepped  forward,  unlocked  the  door  again, 
and  closed  his  red  fingers  tentatively  around  the 
handle.  Mrs.  Abbey  nodded,  and  he  flung  the  panel 
wide.  On  the  threshold,  a  vision  of  delicate,  feminine 
loveliness,  stood  Inez  de  Pierrefond. 

Without  speech  she  walked  past  them  all  to  the 
centre  of  the  room,  wheeled  around  slowly,  and  faced 
them.  Charlie  Abbey,  his  blond  head  high,  his  cheeks 
on  fire,  followed  her  closely,  and,  as  she  turned,  stood 
by  her. 

Mrs.  Abbey  was  the  first  to  regain  the  power  of 
speech.  "  To  what  am  I  indebt — " 


358  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  Kindly  refrain  from  platitudes,  or  any  stereo- 
typed remarks,"  said  Inez,  interrupting.  "  I  am 
making  you  no  social  visit,  as  all  are  well  aware." 

"  How  dare  you  intrude  into  my  private  house ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Abbey,  in  a  shrill  voice  pitched  by  no 
Boston  tuning-fork. 

"How  dare  you  intrude  into  my  private  life?" 
asked  Inez,  not  by  way  of  retort,  but  putting  the 
question  sadly. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence.  All  the  women 
looked  at  one  another. 

"  This  whole  town  thinks  a  heap  of  Emma  Hem- 
ingway," came  in  a  grating  echo,  from  Aunt  Clara's 
lips. 

"  So  ?  "  said  Inez,  looking  squarely  into  the  in- 
scrutable eyes.  "  And  to  prove  it,  you  will  try  to 
break  her  kind  and  gentle  heart?  " 

"  Nobody  wants  to  hurt  Emma"  asserted  Kate 
McMaster.  "  But  I  might  as  well  tell  you  right  out 
to  your  face,  that  John  Hemingway's  friends  intend 
to  save  him." 

"  *  To  save  him ! '  'Ow  very  interesting !  "  She 
paused  to  take  in,  more  securely,  a  fact  which  ap- 
peared so  novel.  "  And  pairhaps,"  she  added,  with 
an  amused  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  uneasy  Wal- 
ter, "  it  was  in  the  speerit  of  self-sacrifice  that,  re- 
cently, the  Oncle  Walter  of  my  Jean  has  made  of 
himself  a  vulgar  fool." 

The  man,  turning  aside  his  head,  muttered  an 
oath. 


AT  BAY  359 

"  You  needn't  swear  about  it,  Walter,"  remarked 
Aunt  Clara.  "  The  barn  is  the  place  for  that." 

May,  on  his  other  side,  gave  a  fierce  dig  into  his 
heaving  ribs.  "  Why  don't  you  up  and  tell  her  it 
was?  " 

Don  Juan,  thus  emboldened,  made  a  single  stride 
into  the  arena.  "  Well,  Madam,  since  you  ask  for 
it, —  that  was  exactly  my  reason, —  to  find  out  for 
my  nephew's  sake  whether  you  were  as  bad  as  your 
book !  " 

"  Your  disappointment  must  'ave  been  severe," 
smiled  Inez. 

"  You  needn't  try  to  brazen  it  out, —  you  — 
you  — "  choked  the  man,  his  veins  standing  out  with 
fury.  "  You  know  well  enough  what  I  found  out. 
May  Armstrong  here's  a  witness." 

"Bravo!"  cried  Inez.  "The  Big  Chief  at  last 
finds  courage !  And  why  not  indeed  ?  "  she  quer- 
ied, with  a  slight  shrug  and  a  pretty  gesture  of  ap- 
peal, "  wid  so  manee  of  his  squaws  behin'  him?  " 

Deliberately,  insultingly,  she  raised  her  monocle, 
holding  it  daintily  by  its  jewelled  stem,  and  let  her 
scornful  eyes  rest,  for  an  instant,  on  May's  crimson 
face,  passing  to  that  of  Kate  McMaster,  and,  last 
of  all,  to  Clara.  The  latter  alone,  showed  no  con- 
cern. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  things  like  that  if  I  was  you, 
I-nez,"  she  observed,  without  emotion. 

Inez  could  not  withhold  a  flash  of  admiration.  Al- 
most she  nodded  acquiescence. 


360  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I'd  have  you  know  that  John  Hemingway's  fam- 
ily is  the  oldest  in  Kishwaukee  County !  "  now  bel- 
lowed Walter,  with  less  relevance  than  vigour. 

"  Is  it  so  ?  "  cried  Inez,  pretending  to  be  overcome. 
"  And  the  poor  familee  of  me, —  being  only  of  direct 
descent  from  Bourbon  royalty  —  Ah, —  the  mesal- 
liance," she  sighed. 

"  And  your  German  husband !  I  guess  he  was 
descended  from  royalty,  too,"  sneered  Kate  McMas- 
ter. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Inez,  plaintively.  "  My  'usband 
was  noble  but  only  in  his  name.  The  morals  of  him, 
—  they  were  much  like  those  I  'ave  observed  in  Del- 
phi. Therefore  I  left  him." 

Now  Cora  Whitman  spoke.  "  We  know  all  about 
that  part  of  your  life.  We've  been  told  as  a  fact, — 
so  it's  useless  for  you  to  attempt  to  deny  it,  that 
you  simply  put  on  your  hat  and  walked  out  of  your 
husband's  house." 

"  Would  it  'ave  pleased  you  better  if  I  had  not 
worn  a  hat? "  suggested  Inez,  innocently,  as  she 
turned  her  monocle  on  Cora.  While  the  assailant 
fumed  and  fidgeted,  striving  in  vain  to  find  an  ade- 
quate retort,  Inez  asked  pleasantly,  "  You  would  not 
'ave  left  him,  no  ?  " 

The  insult  was  so  poignant,  so  subtle,  that  Cora 
went  white.  Her  ashen  lips  stammered  inarticulate 
nothings,  and  finally  she  turned  despairing  eyes  to 
Mrs.  Abbey.  The  appeal  stung  that  small  person 
to  a  renewed  attack. 


AT  BAY  361 

"  Leave  my  house,  woman,"  she  commanded,  step- 
ping directly  in  front  of  Inez. 

"  Mother !  "  cried  Charlie,  at  that. 

"  Don't  you  dare  speak  to  me ! "  now  cried  his 
mother,  her  face  distorted  with  rage.  "  How  you 
have  dared  to  bring  a  person  like  this  into  my  house ! 
All  of  your  life  you  have  been  a  disappointment. 
This  is  the  last  straw.  I  have  done  with  you !  " 

"  And  still  the  Madonnas  smile,"  murmured  Inez, 
looking  round  upon  the  pictured  walls. 

"  Inez,"  the  boy  cried,  brokenly,  "  can  even  your 
generosity  and  friendship  pardon  me  this  ?  " 

Inez  turned  to  flash  him  a  reassuring  smile. 
"  Now,  Sharlee,"  she  said,  caressingly,  "  do  not  you 
worry  about  me.  As  you  used  to  say  in  Paris, —  I 
am  '  'aving  de  time  of  my  yong  life  ' !  I  do  not  fear 
dese  shadows.  Already  I  hold  dem, —  so."  One 
slim,  ungloved  hand  was  outstretched,  palm  upward. 
She  clenched  the  fingers,  then  opened  them  disdain- 
fully, as  if  releasing  winged  vermin. 

"  Well,  here's  one  you  don't  hold  like  that,  my 
lady !  "  shouted  May  Armstrong.  "  I'm  going." 

She  made  a  rush  for  the  door.  Most  of  the 
women  rushed  with  her;  then,  as  suddenly,  all 
stopped.  The  brief  stampede  had  the  absurdity  of 
fowls  in  a  barnyard.  Inez  made  not  the  slightest 
effort  to  restrain  them. 

"  Yes,  we  had  better  go,"  chattered  Mrs.  Abbey, 
between  her  teeth.  "  This  is  no  place  for  ladies. 
We  will  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Hemingway." 


362  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Again  they  started,  and  again  stood  still. 

61  You  weel  not  go, —  not  one  step  weel  you  go  to 
the  mother  of  my  Jean,"  came  the  low,  tense  voice 
of  Inez. 

"Oh,  won't  we!"  ejaculated  Walter,  essaying  a 
defiant  laugh,  "who's  goin'  to  stop  us?" 

"  Not  one  leetle  step  weel  you  go,"  repeated  Inez, 
inflexibly,  "  until  you  'ave  heard,  from  me,  de  pen- 
alty." 

v     "  Penalty!     You  threaten  us?  "  shrilled  Mrs.  Ab- 
bey. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Todd,  looking  very  nervous, 
leaned  down  to  her,  whispering.  She  answered 
quickly  in  the  same  tone,  at  which  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman stepped  forth.  He  got  no  further  than  an 
impressive  clearing  of  his  throat,  when  Inez'  fine 
smile  checked  him. 

"  Ah,  small,  fat  one,"  she  commented,  cheerfully, 
"  so  now  de  Church  is  to  intervene !  " 

"  Madam !  "  he  vociferated,  indignantly,  "  this  ex- 
cellent lady,  my  hostess,  gives  you  this  last  oppor- 
tunity for  a  dignified  retirement.  Will  you  or  will 
you  not,  remove  from  this  house,  the  contamination 
of  your  presence?  " 

Inez  bowed  gravely.  "  You  may  say  to  that  ex- 
cellent lady,"  she  returned,  "  that  de  contamination 
of  my  presence  will  be  remove  when  I  'ave  said  what 
I  came  to  say,  and  not  before.  Also,"  she  added, 
as  her  interlocutor  seemed  to  be  threatened  with 
apoplexy,  "  you  may  say  to  that  excellent  lady  that, 


AT  BAY  363 

at  the  moment,  this  'ouse  cannot  be  regarded  as  a 
private  'ome.  It  is  a  Council  of  Witches,  direct 
from  her  Salem  of  two  'undred  years  ago." 

May  Armstrong  flung  round  to  the  white  and  star- 
ing faces.  Her  low  cry  was  a  snarl.  "  What  is  the 
matter  with  you, —  idiots!  —  that  you  stand  here 
listening.  Why  don't  you  turn  your  backs,  and 
get  out?" 

"  Exactlee  what  is  de  matter  wid  you,  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong," replied  Inez,  her  voice  clear,  sharp  and  cold, 
like  hail.  "  De  consciousness  of  'ipocrisy  and  guilt." 

"  Walter !  "  May  cried,  hysterically,  now  quite 
beside  herself.  "  Did  you  hear  that?  Are  you 
goin'  to  stand  for  it  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  could  de  man  defend  his  mistress  before 
his  wife,"  observed  Madame  de  Pierrefond.  Even 
Charlie  gasped. 

"  The  woman  is  mad!  "  now  broke  out  Mrs.  Abbey. 
"  This  accounts  for  everything.  As  for  her  threats, 
—  what  can  so  depraved  and  unfortunate  a  creature 
do  to  a  sober,  decent,  God-fearing  community  like 
ours  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  "  cried  Inez,  quickly,  "  if,  indeed,  you 
were  decent  and  God-fearing.  But  since  you  are  one 
mass  of  festering,  and  hardly  hidden  rottenness  — " 
She  came  to  a  deliberate  pause,  knowing,  at  last,  she 
had  her  audience  secure. 

"  You'll  get  nothing  by  tryin'  to  blackmail! " 
raged  Walter,  striking  out  blindly  against  her  tone. 

Apparently  she  did  not  hear  him.     "  I  am  a  writer^ 


364  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

as  you  know,"  she  stated,  clearly.  "  It  is  because 
of  my  book,  which  the  Reverend  Mr.  Todd  still  holds 
so  tenderly," — here  came  the  loud  detonation  of  a 
book  hurled  to  the  floor  — "  that  you  'ave  planned 
this  cowardly  attack.  Whatever  you  may  think  in 
your  cramped  and  narrow  minds  of  my  opinions,  the 
more  intelligent  among  you  will  not  deny  that  they 
are  vigorously  set  forth." 

There  came  another  pause,  one  so  packed-down 
and  tense  with  silence  that  the  wheels  of  a  vehicle  far 
down  the  street  seemed  to  pass  across  shivering  nerves. 

"  Only  this  morning,"  the  speaker  went  on,  "  I 
'ave  received  from  a  great  newspaper  syndicate,  the 
request  that  I  write  up  Western  types." 

"  I  told  you  blackmail  was  her  game,"  panted  Wal- 
ter, excitedly. 

She  flung  him  a  contemptuous  smile. 

"  I  'ave  not  yet  consented, —  but  should  I  do  so, 
the  articles  are  to  appear  simultaneously  in  London, 
Paris,  New  York,  Chicago,  and  many  smaller  towns. 
It  may  even  be,"  she  shrugged,  with  her  first  hint 
of  malice,  "  that  the  Delphi  Oracle  weel  subscribe." 

"  This  is  intolerable!  "  faltered  Mrs.  Abbey  and 
sank  down,  half  fainting,  into  a  chair.  "  Can  no 
one  stop  her  ?  Charles !  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Mother,"  replied  the  boy,  gravely. 
*'  But  you've  brought  it  on  yourselves." 

"  Fortunately  we  have  a  law  protecting  us  from 
blackmailers,  and  Free  Love  as  well,"  put  in  Mr. 
Todd,  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 


AT  BAY  365 

"  I  care  little  for  the  names  of  things,"  retorted 
Inez.  "  It  is  always  de  realities  I  seek.  An'  I  say 
to  you, —  all  of  you,  that  if  one  member  of  this  con- 
spiracy,"—  her  eyes,  suddenly  taking  fire,  swept 
round  them  like  a  searchlight  — "  if  even  one  —  that 
Meeses  Abbey  whose  soul  is  a  shrivelled  lemon,  and 
whose  maternal  milk  long  since  has  soured  to  gall, — 
or  that  low  bully,  Walter  'Emingway,  a  beast  of 
sensuality,  unfaithful  alike  to  'is  wife  and  to  his 
paramours, —  or  sharp-tongued  Mrs.  McMaster, 
Leader  in  Woman's  Cause,  wid  her  po'  'en-peck  'us- 
band  de  laughing  stock  of  town, —  or  dat  pale,  blink- 
ing, old-yong  thing  dat  I  recognise  as  Cora  Whitman, 
or  de  fat  parson,  or  long,  thin  Elder  Droppings, — 
if  any  or  one  of  you  " —  she  had  scorched  each  in 
turn  — "  dare  cross  de  doorsill  of  de  one  sweet,  gen- 
tle, hones'  soul  among  you  to  do  her  hurt, —  den 
weel  I  write  such  letters  to  dat  syndicate,  sparing 
no  names, —  yielding  no  mercy, —  dat  Delphi  an'  its 
self-righteous  'ipocrites  weel  go  down  in  literature  as 
de  type  of  provincial  village  hid  from  God's  sun- 
light by  the  fumes  of  its  own  depravity.  And  now," 
she  concluded,  with  the  hauteur  of  a  young  Empress 
dismissing  a  band  of  unruly  servants,  "  it  is  what  I 
came  to  say." 

She  threw  her  head  back  proudly,  caught  the 
diaphanous  grey  draperies  more  closely  about  her 
throat  and,  with  a  gesture  to  Charlie  asking  him  not 
to  follow,  walked,  in  dead  silence,  to  the  door,  and 
out  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SACKCLOTH  — WITH  A  SILVER  LINING 

ONCE  in  the  open  street,  beyond  the  range  of  curi- 
ous, hostile  eyes  that  might  be  following,  the  proud 
head,  with  its  chic  grey  cap  and  jaunty  feather, 
suddenly  went  down.  The  overwrought  nerves,  held 
for  so  long  in  mastery,  claimed  their  reaction. 

Sobs  fought  in  the  long,  white  throat,  and  her 
eyes  stung  with  tears  that  must  not  yet  be  shed. 
There  was  one  more  fortress  to  be  taken. 

No  time  had  been  given  her  to  plan  this  final  at- 
tack. At  least  there  would  be  no  further  need  of 
scorn  and  invective,  weapons  which  seared  her  even 
while  they  brought  ignominious  victory.  To  fight 
the  devil  with  fire  would  have  been  clean  compared 
with  it.  But  these  canaille  of  a  Western  village  — 
here  her  flexible  lips  curled  with  bitterness  —  had 
forced  her  to  stoop  for  mud  and  offal.  She  threw 
both  hands  out  to  the  air,  as  if  hoping  to  fling  off 
clinging  soil.  She  felt  herself  debased  —  contami- 
nated. The  sense  of  superiority,  inherent  though  it 
was,  counted  for  little  in  this  hour  of  deep  humilia- 
tion. One  knows  oneself  superior  to  a  scorpion  or 
a  skunk,  and  yet  the  power  of  those  unclean  beasts 
to  lacerate  and  to  envenom  is  none  the  less  secure. 

Suddenly   she   laughed.     It   was   not   a   pleasant 
366 


A  SILVER  LINING  367 

laugh,  either  to  see  or  to  hear.  How  yellow  they 
all  had  looked !  How  white  the  staring  eyes !  And 
Charlie  Abbey  had  actually  thought  it  possible  that 
she  would  bend  the  knee  to  such  as  these !  Her  anger 
blazed  anew.  She  felt  the  flesh  upon  her  cheek- 
bones tighten,  and  tingle  sharply,  as  if  assailed  by 
tiny  electric  sparks.  Not  even  to  old  Mrs.  Hem- 
ingway would  she  cringe.  The  facts  should  be 
stated  plainly, —  that  was  all.  What  effect  the  dis- 
closures would  produce,  why,  that  was  no  affair  of 
Inez  de  Pierrefond. 

In  her  engrossing  indignation  even  her  love  for 
John  seemed  to  have  disappeared.  He  and  his  com- 
monplace old  mother  were  alike,  part  and  parcel  of 
Delphi,  and,  in  her  present  mood,  this  spirited  young 
woman  had,  for  sole  desire,  the  intention  to  put  as 
much  of  the  world  as  possible  between  herself  and 
Delphi,  and  that,  at  once.  She  was  already  plan- 
ning to  take  the  next  train  to  New  York,  when  the 
old  Hemingway  homestead  came  into  view.  She 
paused  for  a  scornful  scrutiny.  A  Mansard  roof 
in  warped  wood  that  needs  painting,  is  a  sight  to 
make  aesthetic  angels  weep.  She  refused  to  see  the 
softening  touch  of  rose-vines  on  the  porch,  or  the 
geraniums  staring  brightly  from  the  living-room 
window.  All  she  wished  now  was  to  have  this  last 
battle  ended. 

She  swept  up  the  cracked,  cemented  walk,  a  grey 
wraith  of  determination.  First  she  looked  into  the 
living-room.  The  old  faded  rocker  was  empty,  and 


368  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

a  shaft  of  afternoon  sun  fell  across  the  crocheted 
"  tidy  "  on  the  back,  and  lost  itself  in  an  open  work- 
basket,  heaped  with  John's  socks.  A  China  egg 
rounded  the  heel  of  one  of  them,  and  on  the  upper 
surface  was  stuck  a  large  darning-needle,  with  a  trail 
of  silken  floss.  She  moved  across  the  floor  in  the 
direction  of  the  kitchen.  A  patter  of  light  footsteps 
coming  nearer,  made  her  pause.  John's  mother,  her 
spectacles  pushed  upward,  and  a  black  silk  sewing 
apron  shielding  her  grey  skirt,  swung  back  the  pan- 
try door.  At  sight  of  Inez  she  started.  "  Mercy ! 
What  a  fright  you  gave  me,  Inez !  I  didn't  know  you 
had  come  back,"  she  laughed. 

"  I  'ave  onlee  just  now  come  back.  Are  you  very 
busy,  Mrs.  Hemingway?  I  wish  to  talk  wid  you." 

"  Why,  no.  I'm  not  busy  at  all,  if  you  don't 
mind  my  going  on  with  these  socks,"  answered  the 
old  lady,  in  a  pleased  voice.  "  And  even  if  I  was 
busy,"  she  added,  with  the  little  shy,  humorous 
twinkle  Inez  had  begun  to  know  so  well,  "  I'd  stop 
anything  to  talk  about  John.  Of  course  it's  about 
John." 

"  Not  onlee  my  Jean, —  but  myself, —  this  time," 
said  Inez. 

"  That's  even  better! "  Mrs.  Hemingway  ex- 
claimed, leading  the  way  across  the  room.  "  Do  you 
know,  Inez,  I've  been  hoping  that  you  would  want 
to  talk  a  little  more  about  yourself, —  like  real 
mother  and  daughter.  I  —  I  —  don't  like  to  seem 
curious, —  or  have  you  think  I  wanted  to  question 


A  SILVER  LINING  369 

you,"  she  went  on  with  a  hint  of  nervousness,  as  she 
prepared  to  take  her  accustomed  seat.  "  It's  only 
—  affection.  Apart  from  John,  my  dear, —  I  have 
come  to  love  you  very  dearly." 

"  You  are  most  kind  — "  began  Inez,  in  a  con- 
strained manner,  when  the  old  lady,  having  heard 
something  in  her  apron-pocket  rustle,  sprang  quickly 
to  her  feet. 

"  How  could  I  have  forgotten,"  she  cried,  in  self- 
reproach.  "  Here's  a  telegram  that  came  not  five 
minutes  ago  from  John."  She  held  the  yellow  slip 
out,  in  fingers  that  trembled  with  eagerness. 

Inez,  taking  it,  read  at  a  single  glance.  "  Will 
be  home  to  supper.  Everything  went  splendidly. 
Dear  love  to  my  sweetheart.  John." 

"  That's  the  reason  I  was  in  the  kitchen,"  ex- 
plained the  old  lady.  "  I  wanted  to  help  Molly  with 
one  of  those  Marlborough  puddings  John  likes  so 
much.  Molly  doesn't  always  get  it  exactly  right." 
She  seated  herself  contentedly,  stooping  sidewise  for 
her  darning. 

"  Socks  —  puddings  —  servants !  Such  things 
hang  the  horizon  of  this  woman,"  thought  Inez  to 
herself.  "  She  will  surely  be  as  narrow  as  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  placed  a  comfortable  chair 
for  you ! "  now  cried  the  elder  lady,  looking  up  in 
some  surprise  at  Inez'  continued  silence. 

"  No  —  no !  "  protested  the  other.  "  I  weel  fetch 
one  for  myself."  With  a  single  impatient  gesture 
she  reached  out  and,  twirling  a  straight-backed  chair 


370  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

from  its  place  against  the  wall,  sat  down,  facing  the 
rocker. 

"  I'm  sure  that's  not  comfortable,"  deprecated 
Mrs.  Hemingway. 

"  It  does  not  matter.  I  can  speak  as  well  from 
this,"  declared  Inez  with  a  hint  of  irritation. 

The  old  lady,  realising  at  last  the  presence  of 
something  surcharged  and  unusual,  looked  through 
her  spectacles  into  the  lovely,  storm-tossed  face. 

"  How  bright  your  eyes  are,  Inez !  And  your 
cheeks  are  as  pink, —  as  pink  — "  But  metaphor 
failed  her,  and  she  ended  with  the  impulsive  ex- 
clamation, "  I  just  wish  John  could  see  you!  "  She 
gazed  for  a  moment  longer,  her  sweet  old  face  beam- 
ing with  naive  delight,  then  bent  down  to  her  darn- 
ing. 

"  I  have  often  thought,  during  this  past  week," 
she  continued  placidly,  as  Inez  seemed  in  no  haste 
to  begin,  "  what  a  wonderful  gift  beauty  is.  Just 
by  being  yourself,  to  be  able  to  give  pleasure  to 
every  one  around  you!  Now  I  was  never  what 
you'd  call  real  pretty,  not  even  when  I  was  young. 
My!  how  I  used  to  long  to  be  pretty.  I  even  used 
to  say  my  prayers  for  it."  She  paused,  shaking 
her  grey  head  and  sighing  to  recall  such  youthful 
vanity,  but  her  smile  was  deeper  than  her  sigh. 
"  Of  course,"  she  added,  a  little  shyly,  "  John's 
father  thought  I  was  sweet-looking."  Here  a  tinge 
of  pink  crept  into  the  faded  cheek.  "  But  that's 
different.  I  never  realised,  till  you  came  here,  that 


A  SILVER  LINING  371 

a  woman's  face  could  be  like  a  beautiful  spring  morn- 
ing, or  a  vase  of  roses  that  do  not  fade." 

"  You  are  beautiful  now,  you  mother  of  my 
Jean,"  cried  Inez.  "  It  is  the  gentle  spirit  shining 
through  that  makes,  and  will  keep  you  so." 

"  Now  —  now,  my  dear,"  fluttered  the  elder 
woman,  in  pleased  embarrassment.  "  I  wasn't  fish- 
ing for  compliments.  I  am  an  old,  old  lady.  But 
if  you  and  John  still  think  me  sweet-looking  — 
Why,  where  is  Charlie  Abbey,"  she  exclaimed,  thank- 
ful to  turn  the  conversation  from  herself.  "  Didn't 
he  come  back  with  you  ? "  She  looked  hurriedly 
about  the  room  as  if  suspecting  Inez  of  having  con- 
cealed him. 

Inez  recalled  the  unlovely  present  with  a  start. 
"  He  did  not  return  with  me,"  she  answered,  her 
face  growing  dark.  "  I  did  not  wish  him  to  come 
back.  What  I  have  to  say  is  for  you  alone."  The 
vibrant  excitement  in  her  voice  was  unmistakable. 

Mrs.  Hemingway  slowly  drew  out  her  needle, 
trailing  a  long  back  thread. 

"  I  have  just  come, —  as  pairhaps  you  already 
realise, —  from  the  'ome  of  Meeses  Abbee.  Sharlee 
accompanied  me." 

The  listener  gave  a  slight  start,  but,  wisely,  she 
said  nothing. 

"  You  weel  pairhaps  wonder  at  my  going  to  dat 
'ouse, —  yes  ?  "  dashed  on  Inez,  her  English  blur- 
ring, as  usual,  in  the  vehemence  of  her  speech.  "  It 
was  undeegnified  —  gauche  —  that  anything  should 


372  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

take  me  to  dat  'ouse  when  she — "  The  impetuous 
words  halted.  It  was  difficult  to  find  a  phrase  in 
which  to  state  the  personal  affront. 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  wonder  or 
criticise  anything  that  you  do,  Inez,"  was  the  gentle 
re j  oinder.  "  You  are  my  guest,  and  the  woman 
who  is  to  be  my  dear  son's  wife." 

"  They  'ave  been  to  me  unkind, —  ungenerous, — 
detestable!  these  people  of  your  leetle  town ! "  cried 
Inez,  feeling  a  strange  relief  in  thus  voicing  her 
pent-up  indignation.  "  Forgive  me  dat  I  must  say 
such  t'ings, —  but  I  'ave  cause." 

"  I  know  it  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady, 
sadly. 

"  Of  course  I  am  different  from  dem !  My  whole 
life  'as  been  different.  I  do  not  'ave  their  thoughts ! 
Mon  Dieu!  I  do  not  wish  such  thoughts, —  so  nar- 
row,—  so  mean,  so  'ippocritical !  Eeef  they  not  like 
me, —  well,  there  is  no  'arm  in  dat ! "  commented 
Inez,  with  a  shrug  and  gesture  straight  from  Paris. 
"  But  dat  deed  not  satisfy  such  peoples, —  no !  They 
mus'  whisper  and  spy.  They  mus'  band  demselves 
together  against  me  for  de  making  of  great  troubles. 
They  'eld  meetings, —  always  in  de  libraree  of  dat 
shrivel-hearted  Meeses  Abbee, —  wid  her  collection 
of  virgins  on  de  walls !  " 

At  the  tone  of  scorn,  Mrs.  Hemingway  laughed 
softly. 

"  De  beegest  meeting  was  dis  day, —  when  dey 
had  'card  my  Jean  was  lef '  me.  De  cowards  —  all 


A  SILVER  LINING  373 

of  dem!  But  Sharlee  is  our  frien'.  Sharlee  has 
told  me.  And  when  he  say  to-day  of  dis  beeg  meet- 
ing, I  answer  Sharlee, — '  Sharlee,  eef  you  'ave  de 
courage  to  accompany, —  I  weel  go  now,  and  face 
dem  all ! '  " 

The  darning  egg  fell  with  a  thud.  Mrs.  Heming- 
way could  not  restrain  a  single,  frightened  breath, 
then,  all  at  once,  her  face  quivered  into  a  thousand 
tiny  wrinkles  of  admiration. 

"  You  did?     You  splendid  girl!  " 

"  It  was  not  so  much  to  defend  myself,"  Inez  went 
on  more  quietly,  her  eyes  softening  under  this  some- 
what unexpected  sympathy.  "  It  was  not,  eeder, 
for  the  sake  of  my  Jean.  We  are  both  yong, —  we 
could  well  defy  them.  But  when  I  heard  that  their 
plan  was  to  come  to  you, —  to  my  Jean's  mother, 
here  in  her  very  'ome,  bringing  deir  scandals  to  turn 
your  heart  and  mind  against  me  —  Den  — "  an 
eloquent  silence  finished  the  sentence. 

The  old  lady  deliberately  drew  out  another  thread. 
"  If  they  had  come*,"  she  remarked,  "  I  think  they 
would  have  had  their  pains  for  nothing." 

Inez  stared.  "But, —  why?  'Ow?  You  couldn't 
have  kept  them  out." 

"  Perhaps  not, —  but  I  could  have  refused  to  lis- 
ten." 

"  They  would  not  let  you  refuse ! "  asseverated 
Inez,  her  excitement  flaring  up.  "  You  do  not  know 
dose  peoples.  Dey  are  like  Weetch  Burners.  Dey 
would  'ave  forced  demselves  upon  you.  It  is  not 


374  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

only  women,  no!  De  fat  leetle  minister  is  wid  dem, 
and  the  long  Elder  Droppings,  and,  worse  of  dem 
all, —  de  wide,  red  faced  bullee,  Walter  'Eming- 
way." 

"  I  should  have  found  a  way  to  stop  them,"  re- 
iterated the  other,  with  a  confident  nod. 

Inez  gazed  at  her  in  amazement.  Was  this  in- 
deed the  neutral-tinted  housewife  she  had  known? 
In  the  silence,  the  old  lady  gave  two  sharp  taps  with 
her  thimble  on  the.  shrouded  egg. 

Inez  jumped. 

"  I  have  kept  friends  with  all  the  folks  here  in 
Delphi,"  the  placid  voice  pursued.  "  It  was  best 
for  John  that  we  should  have  good  friends.  But  — 
I  have  not  been  blind." 

After  a  long  pause  in  which  Inez  remained,  ap- 
parently, incapable  of  speech,  the  other  said,  "  Yes, 
they  have  been  good  friends  and  neighbours;  yet  by 
this  time  I  should  think  they  would  realise  that  I 
have  never  let  anybody  else's  opinion  weigh  with  me 
when  it  came  to  what  I  felt  was  best  for  John.  You 
never  heard  such  an  outcry  as  there  was  when  I  de- 
cided to  send  him  to  a  Chicago  school  instead  of 
the  high  school  here  at  Delphi."  She  smiled  rem- 
iniscently.  "  And  when  we  sold  the  old  farm  so  he 
could  study  architecture  in  Paris! "  Here  the 
speaker  laughed  outright,  flinging  up  both  hands  by 
way  of  emphasis.  From  the  right  one  dangled  the 
almost-mended  sock. 

"  But  tell  me,"  she  now  urged,  changing  her  key 


A  SILVER  LINING  375 

to  one  of  present  interest.  "  What  sort  of  things 
did  you  say  to  Mrs.  Abbey?  I'm  really  curious  to 
hear." 

"  What  didn't  I  say?  "  cried  Inez,  her  face  glow- 
ing with  reflected  smiles.  Then  again  she  remem- 
bered what  was  to  come.  The  brightness  vanished 
like  a  suddenly  extinguished  flame.  The  sombre, 
hunted  look  crept  back. 

"  There, —  there,"  said  the  old  lady  quickly.  "  It 
does  not  matter.  I  should  never  have  asked.  Of 
course  you  don't  want  to  recall  so  soon  what  must 
have  been  a  trying  ordeal." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  that,"  was  the  slow  response. 
"  It  is  too  recent  for  forgetting  and, —  besides,  what 
I  went  there  to  do,  I  did.  I  silenced  them;  but  the 
victoree  was  one  of  which  I  am  not  proud." 

She  hesitated,  and  after  a  moment  rose,  and  began 
to  move  restlessly  about  the  room. 

Mrs.  Hemingway  was  putting  the  last  stitch  in 
a  sock.  She  held  it  up,  turning  it  this  way 
and  that,  to  see  if  the  interlacing  threads  were 
smooth. 

"  What  I  said  to  dem  was  necessary,"  Inez  went 
on  gloomily.  "  And  what  I  now  mus'  say  to  you 
is  necessary, —  but  I  shrink,  because  my  words  will 
'urt  you." 

"  Can  you  be  sure  then,  that  it  is  necessary?  " 
questioned  the  old  lady  artlessly,  as  she  folded  the 
sock,  and  laid  it  on  the  top  of  a  neat  pile  of  its 
fellows. 


376  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

"  I  am  quite  sure.  Please,  you  will  listen.  Two 
years  ago,  in  Paris,  I  wrote  a  book." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  You  have  never  seen  my  book, —  or  heard  of 
it?" 

"  Why,  no !  "  The  gentle,  brown  eyes  looked  up 
in  astonishment.  "  I  wonder  why  John  — " 

"  You  will  soon  know  dat,"  Inez  broke  in,  with 
a  bitter  laugh.  "  He  did  not  wish  hees  good  mother 
to  hear  of  it.  Ah,  now  I  see,  too  clearly,  dat  even 
in  dat  time,  my  Jean  was  faint-hearted  in  upholding 
me.  But  now  — "  she  flung  round  suddenly,  her 
whole  manner  instinct  with  defiance.  "  Now  you 
are  to  hear —  That  book  was  written  to  state  my 
disbelief  in  marriage, —  dat  wicked  screen  of  cruelty 
and  vice  which  modern  societee  is  so  anxious  to  pre- 
serve." 

Standing  straight  and  tall  beside  the  seated 
figure,  she  now  threw  down  a  quick  glance.  Mrs. 
Hemingway,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  remained 
as  motionless  as  Whistler's  mother  in  her  painted 
chair. 

"  It  shocks  you,  yes  ?  as  it  weel  shock  all  good, 
conventional  women  who  have  never  known  the  touch 
of  the  branding  iron.  But  /  have  known !  There- 
fore I  take  my  stand  and  say  to  all  that  I  believe  a 
bondage  which  can  be  used  in  such  a  way,  is,  of  it- 
self, evil." 

"  Poor  child.  Poor  unhappy  child,"  the  old  lady 
whispered,  her  eyes  filling  with  the  slow  tears  of 


A  SILVER  LINING  377 

age.  "  How  you  must  have  suffered  to  make  you 
feel  like  this." 

"  Yes,  I  'ave  suffered, —  but  it  is  now  all  past," 
declared  Inez,  with  a  vibration  of  resentment  in  her 
voice.  Something  untamed  within  her  flinched  at 
the  obvious  compassion.  "  An'  because  I  have  suf- 
fered,—  I  came  to  believe  it  my  duty  to  all  other 
women,  that  I  should  try  to  keep  them  from  stum- 
bling into  the  same  pit  of  fire." 

"  Then  it  is  this  book  of  yours  that  Mrs.  Abbey 
and  —  the  others — ?"  the  old  lady  began,  in 
tremulous  questioning;  but  her  voice  broke,  and  she 
could  not  finish. 

"  Mais  oui,"  shrugged  Inez,  lightly.  "  What 
else?  Not  only  'ave  they  read, —  they  'ave  glutted 
in  it,  seeing  obscenity,  where  there  was  none  at  all, 
—  smacking  their  lips  over  situations  created  by 
deir  own  prurient  minds.  All  of  such  passages  are 
marked ;  and  it  is  this  weapon  against  me  which  they 
weel  bring  to  you." 

"  Of  —  Of  —  course  John  knows  of  your 
book  — "  The  mother  ventured,  but  the  tone  was 
so  uncertain,  so  utterly  unlike  her  usual  placid 
speech,  that  Inez  could  not  be  sure  whether  the  words 
were  meant  as  a  query,  or  the  despairing  statement 
of  a  fact.  In  either  case  she  had  something  to  re- 
tort. 

"  My  Jean?  "  she  echoed.  "  Does  he  know?  He 
'elped  me  to  write  it ! " 

Her  head  was  still  high,  and  under  disdainfully 


378  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

lowered  lids  she  watched  the  poisoned  arrows  strike. 
It  was  as  if  demons  possessed  her.  She  felt  no  pity, 
no  remorse.  The  strong  shudder,  as  of  fear,  that 
now  made  the  woman  before  her  grasp  tightly  the 
two  arms  of  her  chair,  evoked  only  a  thrill  of  malig- 
nant triumph. 

"  From  de  first,"  the  clear,  relentless  voice  went 
on,  "  your  son  was  made  aware  of  my  attitude 
toward  conventional  marriage.  Wen  first  I  saw 
that  he  was  beginning  to  love  me,  I  told  him  every- 
thing." 

"  Surely  —  surely"  gasped  the  white  lips  of  the 
mother,  "  my  boy  — " 

"  I  onderstan',"  interrupted  the  other  with  a 
scornful  little  laugh.  "  Be  comforted.  At  de  first 
your  boy  was  entirelee  'orrified.  He  said  to  me 
things  dat  would  have  pleased  even  Meeses  Abbee. 
But  dat,  it  was  at  de  first.  In  good  time, — 
she  emphasised,  with  deliberate  cruelty,  "  an'  dat 
time  was  not  so  long  —  de  Delphi  training  fell 
away  from  him,  and  my  Jean  believed  as  I  be- 
lieve." 

Mrs.  Hemingway  covered  her  face,  then,  throw- 
ing out  both  hands  she  cried,  with  broken  vehe- 
mence, "  I  cannot  be  mistaken.  You  love  my  son." 

"  Certalnment  do  I  love  your  son,"  answered  Inez, 
lifting  her  delicate  brows,  "  but  I  'ave  said  to  him 
that  I  do  not  care  to  be  branded,  even  with  his  name, 
or  to  be  bound  to  him  wid  legal  handcuffs  dat  we 
do  not  need." 


A  SILVER  LINING  379 

"  Let  me  try  to  understand  you  more  clearly," 
said  the  old  lady,  sitting  erect  with  a  piteous  effort 
after  self-control.  "  This,  then,  is  the  reason  you 
have  not  married  earlier?  You  and  John  intend 
to  live  together  without, —  without' — ?  Is  that 
it?" 

"  Exactlee." 

"  And  before  you  took  the  step, —  before  you 
would  make  it  public,  you  came  here  to  his  home, — 
meeting  his  people, —  winning  the  heart  of  his 
mother?  " 

"We  thought  it  best,  Mrs.  'Emingway,  and  also 
kinder.  I  am  sorry  if  you  feel  it  was  wrong.  No 
insult  to  you  was  intended." 

"  Oh,  my  dear"  expostulated  the  other,  eagerly. 
"  Don't  mistake  me !  I  am  only  too  thankful  that 
you  came.  It  will  make  things  easier  for  John, — 
afterward.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself,  at  all." 

"  You  never  are, —  and  it  is  for  that  reason  you 
are  defeating  me, —  inch  by  inch,"  was  on  Inez' 
tongue  to  exclaim,  but  she  bit  the  words  back,  and 
in  the  place  of  them  asked  with  forced  indifference, 
"  Am  I  to  onderstan*  then,  that,  in  spite  of  this 
dreadful  thing  he  intends  doing,  you  weel  not  cast 
off  your  son?  " 

The  swift,  upward  look  was  full  of  wonder.  "  If 
you  had  ever  borne  a  child,  my  dear,  you  would  not 
have  asked  that  question." 

"  Then  for  me!  "  Inez  challenged,  harshly.  "  For 
de  Strange  Woman  who  has  brought  dis  shame  to 


380  THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

you  an'  yours, —  always  you  weel  hate  me, —  yes?" 

"  Not  while  you  love  my  boy." 

Suddenly  one  of  the  white-gloved  hands  went  up 
to  a  swelling  throat.  Inez  pressed  hard.  "  I  will 
not  yield,  not  yet,  not  quite  yet,"  she  was  telling 
her  good  angel,  fiercely.  "  Let  me  prove  a  little 
further,  this  wonderful  mother-love  which,  without 
knowing  it,  has  shattered  the  citadel  of  my  pride." 

In  the  sharp,  silent  struggle,  the  old  lady,  hope- 
less, and  without  warning  of  the  glory  soon  to  shine, 
began  to  fumble  blindly  for  a  pocket  handkerchief. 
There  was  none  in  either  pocket  of  her  apron,  and 
none  in  the  basket  so  hastily  tumbled.  Finally  she 
took  up  one  of  John's  socks  and  held  it  first  against 
one  streaming  eye,  and  then  the  other.  Inez  glanc- 
ing down,  caught  sight  of  her.  The  last  reserve 
gave  way. 

"  Mother ! "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  like  the 
bursting  of  a  star.  "  Those  are  the  things  I  held 
to  before  I  came.  You  have  taught  me  a  higher 
law  than  that  of  personal  development."  In  her  ve- 
hemence she  knelt,  facing  the  small  grey  figure.  Her 
cloak,  in  the  swift  motion,  rippled  to  the  floor. 

"I  —  /  —  taught  you,"  the  old  lady  stammered. 
"Why,  Inez, —  why,  my  dear, —  I  shouldn't  have 
dared  to  say  a  word  to  a  woman  so  smart, —  so  bril- 
liant as  you  are — " 

"  You  didn't  'ave  to  say  cle  word,"  cried  Inez, 
laughing  a  little  hysterically,  as  she  flung  her  arms 
out,  drawing  the  little  figure  close.  "  You  'ad  only 


A  SILVER  LINING  381 

to  "be, —  and  lo !  the  Strange  Woman  lies  dead  at 
your  patient  feet, —  and  in  her  place  is — " 

"My  daughter, —  my  son's  wife, —  Inez  Hem- 
ingway," whispered  the  older  lips. 

For  an  instant  they  clung  together,  then  the  old 
lady,  with  an  air  of  motherly  solicitude,  stooped 
past  the  bowed  shoulders  and  gathered  the  grey  wrap 
from  the  floor. 

"Don't  cry  so,  my  darling,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Everything  has  come  right.  Why,  how  you  are 
shivering!  Let  me  ptut  your  pretty  wrap  about 
your  neck.  And  what  lovely  stuff  it  is,"  she  paused 
to  say,  drawing  the  exquisite  fabric  through  hands 
that  trembled  now  with  happiness.  "  Such  pretty 
stuff.  "What  wit?" 

"  Sack-clot',"  sobbed  Inez,  brokenly. 

"Sack-cloth?"  repeated  the  other.  "What 
funny  names  they  do  get  up  for  new  materials !  " 
Then,  all  at  once  she  understood,  and,  without 
speech,  leaned  down,  pressing  the  white  rose  of  her 
face  against  her  daughter's  tear-wet  cheek. 


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